


Taken (Whats yours is mine)

by CaptainJacq



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJacq/pseuds/CaptainJacq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two and a half years ago, Arthur Pendragon made a decision and he left the Knights behind and went on the run. Two and a half years later Arthur goes out for sandwiches and Merlin, bumbling, energetic, criminal-with-a-secret Merlin, is the only one in the office when someone comes for Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken (Whats yours is mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Muppet for all her modly glory and finding me a pinch hitter artist when I needed it way faster than I could have. Thanks to Patria_Mori, for her amaaaaazing art. You should all go and look at it and tell her how brilliant it is.

*

“Will you be requiring anything else Mr Dubois?” 

The question hung in the air as Arthur stared fixedly at the email in front of him and the rest of the room wavered in the background of his consciousness. 

“Sir?” their assistant pressed again and this time Arthur registered the sound of George’s voice. For the last ten minutes he’d been ignoring him pretty much beyond the knowledge that the stubborn man had been talking.

“That will be all, George,” Arthur said, waving his hand in dismissal and ignoring however long it took George to follow his orders. It wouldn’t have been long; the man was ridiculous when it came to the chain of command. It drove Merlin crazy.  
Arthur sighed and leant forward on his desk, idly rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The computer screen in front of him blurred as he blinked blearily at it.   
Time had slowed to a minimum rate in the last fortnight and his gaze hovered over the small calendar in the bottom corner. 

The fourteenth. Two more days. 

Closing his eyes for a moment Arthur slumped back in his chair and absorbed the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the faint rumble of cars going by outside.  
Life was quiet of late, and if there was one thing he abhorred, it was a quiet life. It was not a life he had been bred for. Hell, running a business – even a private ‘security’ business - was not a life he had been bred for. But it was the life they had chosen, or been forced to choose. He still wasn’t entirely certain which was correct, even after going on two years, or a little less than that, really, where the business was concerned. But it had been more than two years since he’d had to throw everything he had away and run for it. Taking Merlin with him and Merlin alone, leaving everything else behind – his flat in the Citadel, his job, his team, his friends. His father. 

He’d had to leave without warning and for good and he didn’t regret it for a moment. As long as he had Merlin with him. It was only during these little trips Merlin made that the doubt crept into his mind, and not all of it had anything to do with the fact Merlin’s little trips were his boyfriend running off to break the law where Arthur couldn’t see. Running off to hide their tracks from the very people Arthur had left behind.

But really, doubt or not, the only thing that truly worried him when Merlin was away was the fact that he missed him. He missed him with a yearning longing he still wasn’t over. Two and a half years on, it was still terrifyingly all-consuming.   
Which lead him to periods where nearly nothing happened at work and nothing happened at home and it all served to drive him even more stir crazy.

And no amount of phone sex or dirty emails could satiate the burning need for his boyfriend.

It really did worry him sometimes, the desperation by which he needed Merlin. It was as if all those feelings he’d never experienced during college or university had been kept in storage that only Merlin, being the criminal he was, could unlock. 

It really was altogether ridiculous, Arthur thought, and stared at the screen, accusingly. It didn’t waver or change, Merlin’s last email still staring back at him from the screen. Arthur scoffed at it quietly before opening a new email and typing out quickly before he got too sickened with himself.

_I miss you._

He clicked send and shut down the tab before sitting back in his chair 

Two more days, he thought quietly to himself. It was only two more days and then things could go back to the way they should be.

 

*

Merlin had a love-hate relationship with the airport. For one, it had planes – and planes were both irritating and amazing. No matter how often he flew, he never got over the view out the tiny little windows. The stretch of cloud cover, the fading colours as the sky changed. 

People were different on planes as well. There was nothing quite like the knowledge that you were going to be cramped up next to someone you didn’t know for hours on end to bring a deep sense of connection with people.   
He always got the talkers sitting next to him, which he didn’t mind, because Merlin himself loved to talk. He loved people, stories, characters. 

He hated the food, however; he hated the plastic wrapped blankets and the cramped toilet. He hated the forced sweetness from the hostesses. He hated the moment the plane left the ground and started climbing and climbing and climbing and that moment his brain spluttered in half hearted terror – _we’re not going to make it, we’re gonna fall._

He had nothing against the rest of the trip, the something-something thousand feet of airspace and the bump as the tyres hit the landing strip. He didn’t even have anything against take off itself. It was that moment of oh-god-something’s-going-to-go-wrong as the plane levelled out mid air that got to him.

He blamed Will. It was entirely Will’s fault, Will and his love of air-crash documentaries.

Realistically, his only problems with flying only ever came back to the fact he wasn’t driving the plane. Nearly everything else about it he loved.  
Airports on the other hand were something different.

Talking to people at the airport was paramount to suicide. No one wanted to talk to you, there was always a line and everything always had this faint air of futility – _I’ll never reach the ATM in time. Don’t these moron’s know I have a flight in twenty minutes?_ \- But there was no better place for people watching.  
And people watching was Merlin’s _favourite_.

The baggage carousel was by far the best part of his trip, usually. Not only because it allowed him the luxury of making off with someone else’s luggage on those trips where he had been running and running _fast_ , with no chance to take anything with him bar the clothes on his back and a prayer to anyone listening. But that had been before, before Arthur had caught him, before the business and the Knights and the knowledge of what it felt like to have Arthur Pendragon’s lips against his skin.

A long time ago indeed.

Since then, the baggage carousel was entertaining on one of two conditions:

1\. Arthur was standing behind him bitching and moaning, 

2\. Arthur was standing behind him glowering and sulking.

 

The airport had lost quite a lot of its charm these days.  
As did a lot of Merlin’s life.

These days, or rather specifically _today_ \- all he really wanted to do was get back home – home to Arthur, if the whinging git wasn’t at their apartment.

He’d bloody well cut his trip short two days because he missed the blond prat. But what was worse was the fact he’d barely slept a wink the entire two weeks he’d been gone and it was _ridiculous._

Today, the baggage carousel with its holidaying lovers barely keeping an eye out while they fondled, or the irritated businessmen staring the machine down like the furore of their stare would spit out their bags a little faster, or the stressed parents talking their children down from trying to climb up on the conveyer belt were severely less interesting than they should be.

Right at that second he was one of the boring, intense people who stared into nothing trying to remember what suitcase they packed and whether or not they’d actually tied that ribbon to the handle like they’d planned to or not.  
He just really wanted to get home. Or to the office. Arthur would be at the office. Glancing down at his watch Merlin smiled softly. 11:39. He could call Arthur and warn him and Arthur could pop over to Cath’s and get a couple of sandwiches and be back almost perfectly. Then they could eat and Merlin could pretend that he hadn’t missed him and then they could go home and go to bed.

Smiling to himself, Merlin rocked on his heels and jumped forward as he spotted the bright blue suitcase Arthur had bought him.

He bloody didn’t need a ribbon to spot it. 

*

Arthur was lazily reading a brief that had been sent through for an extraction in Mercia City when he heard the phone shrill downstairs at George’s desk. While the man took his job very seriously there was little they were actually paying him for. Really his only job was to warn Arthur and Merlin who exactly they were about to talk to – whether or not it was over the phone or in person. He had access to Merlin’s database and little else, but he was persistent and frighteningly reliable and Arthur was thankful for him, more often than he was frustrated. He spent most of his time being annoyed with the man, but that was purely out of a reliable annoyance with Merlin that carried over. In truth, Arthur was glad for the break between himself and the world Merlin had dragged him down into. It was a layer of protection Arthur wasn’t going to argue against when realistically he was listed as an enemy of the State. After five years in the Knights, the elite Secret Service of Albion, betraying your country and running off with a criminal was enough to get you Blacklisted. Everything Merlin had done in the last two and a half years had been to make sure that list didn’t get Arthur thrown into Albion Penitentiary and never come out. 

So Arthur never complained about George.

Except when the man intercepted Merlin’s calls first and told Arthur it was someone else so he made a fool of himself.

“A Mr Wright for you, sir,” George’s voice called through the intercom a moment later, just as a file popped up on Arthur’s screen. Opening it he scanned the man’s information with a lazy eye for a moment – _magical weapons, beta-grade_ -– before he picked up.

“Mr Wright, always a pleasure, Arthur Penn speaking,” 

“ _Oh Mr Penn, I assure you, the pleasure is all mine,_ ” Merlin’s unmistakable voice echoed out of the handset and Arthur smiled despite himself.

“That’s it; I’m firing George before you get back.”

_“Hahahaha, come off it, Arthur. It’s fun.”_

“I’ll tell you what’s fun: me changing the locks.”

_“You do remember the part where the locks are voice activated and you know nothing about code, right?”_

“I hate you. You’re impossible, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

_“Pffft, I’m amazing and brilliant and you know it.”_

“I can find other amazing people.”

_“No one is as amazing as me, Arthur. No one. Besides, you’d never be able to hire anyone. I’m better at dealing with people than you are.”_

“You are not.”

_“I am, I have a criminal track record that says I’m brilliant.”_

“It says you’re delusional, narcissistic and emotionally unbalanced is what it says.”

_“Shut up, it does not.”_

“How would you know?”

 _“Because I know everything you wrote on me, Arthur._ Everything.”

“Have you been hacking into my files again, Emrys?”

_“Please, I left a backdoor the first time. I don’t even need to hack anymore. Besides you haven’t touched those files in years.”_

“Remind me again why I’m in love with you?”

_“Because, you prat, you love my ingenuity.”_

“You don’t have any.”

_“I have bucket loads.”_

“You do not.”

_“Well if I don’t then what do you call your 25 minute warning to go get me something to eat, then?”_

“This is where I bring up that ‘delusional’ statement again,” he said with a smile, the feel of it broadening as Merlin huffed, indignant and amused on the other end.

_“Forget why you put up with me, why do I put up with you?”_

“Because you’re insane and narcissistic and emotionally unbalanced.”

_“And awesome. Don’t forget awesome.”_

“We’ve been through this – “

_“Well if I’m not awesome then neither is my taste in men.”_

“There are exclusions to every rule.”

_“Oh I know, Gwaine was excellent in bed – “_

“I’m still changing the locks when you get back.”

_“Then you’ve got fifteen minutes starting now and you’ll still have time to get me something from the deli.”_

“What on earth are you nattering on about?”

 _“I’m at the airport, you clot,”_ Merlin sighed and Arthur sat up far too quickly.

“You’re what?”

_“Well, technically, I’m in the line waiting for the car to come around. So I’m almost not at the airport. But I’m back, anyway. In Camelot. And I’m hungry.”_

“I thought you weren’t free until day after tomorrow?”

_“Well I’m just more efficient than you, Arthur. Awesome, remember? And I might have missed something back at home, you know. I don’t know what it is anymore because you’re clearly thick as six bricks and don’t appreciate me.”_

“I’ll show you appreciation, all right.”

_“Well good. Just make sure you let George know not to interrupt this time, cause last time it was really hard to look him in the eye for a while. He’s far too intense. We should hire him out as a fence, he wouldn’t even need to know any martial arts or lift any weights to intimidate people into buying or selling, he could just stare people down and they’d tell him anything.”_

“You are insane. I missed you.”

_“Oh, I think this is my curtain call if you’re about to get soppy, Arthur.”_

“I thought you missed me?”

_“I did, but you’re gonna make me all sappy and the driver doesn’t need that. He’s supposed to think I’m a snobby rich bastard, part of the mob or something.”_

“You’re a private consultant for the underbelly of Albion, Merlin, you _are_ a part of the mob.”

_“Shush, you’ll blow my cover.”_

“Idiot,” he said fondly and he could still imagine Merlin grinning brilliant enough his whole face crinkling into the smile.

_“Never. You should get going. I want a chicken salad from Cathy before I even consider blowing you, that’s how hungry I am. Airport food is shite.”_

“And yet you’ve spent a good portion of your life in planes.”

_“Running away from you. I don’t need to do that anymore, now do I? So don’t deny me Cath’s homemade mayo. I have missed it so.”_

“Were you pining for sandwiches?”

_“And cock, but mostly sandwiches. OK, we’re about to go under the bridge and I’ll lose you. Run along, Pratface. See you soon.”_

Arthur couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as the phone beeped and Merlin hung up. After two weeks abroad, it was immediately soothing to know Merlin was back. It was the same, time after time. It didn’t matter how long they were apart – knowing that Merlin was gone, out of his reach was debilitating, like the world was just slightly off axis. A part of him was irrational, always, never ending – waiting for the moment that would tell him Merlin wasn’t coming back. That the world he’d left behind for Arthur was too much, that Arthur was too little and he was never going to see Merlin again. So much had changed in the last two and a half years, even beyond what had changed prior to that. So much of his life had been centred around Merlin, what Merlin meant to him. Could mean to him.

And even after two and a half years together, there was always a part of him that worried, that waited; that felt this indescribable joy and possessiveness whenever Merlin came back. This feeling that erupted in his veins, that pulsed and made smiling far too easy as he held him.

Merlin Ambrose had made a life for himself manipulating the world and people around him, but Arthur never ceased to wonder if Merlin had ever possibly considered he could manipulate someone into feeling the things he made Arthur.  
Arthur had worked for the Knights since the moment he had been old enough to qualify, two months after he finished his degree in criminal science at Albion University of Technology. He’d worked hard to get where he’d been and when he had been going through the baby cases during his probation, he’d come across a diamond scam, a young thief who had stolen two and a half million pounds worth of diamonds out of the private residence of Vivian White. The woman’s father was a bully and she herself rather stupid. Taking the case made Arthur feel like he’d stepped in a proverbial landmine. There was something about it, though, he couldn’t quite let go of and never had. 

He had followed the trace of the thief with the balls to steal from Vivian White and over the course of his own career in the Knights he managed to follow Emrys up the criminal ladder. By the time Arthur was sanctioned into Team Cappa, eighteen months after he first found Merlin in his files, the heads of department were practically begging Arthur for the files of everything he’d found. 

Emrys had become notorious and Arthur had gotten himself a reputation for getting the job done well and fast.

Except for Merlin - or Emrys, as he’d been known; Arthur hadn’t been able to get his hands on Merlin at all.

Every time he’d get close, Merlin would dance out of his grasp. Sometimes in the minutes it took to get the team situated around the building they’d been sure Merlin had been in. And sometimes he had been. Sometimes he’d been in a building Arthur had just been researching. But whatever the case, it all came to the same conclusion. Arthur became obsessed with Merlin, Merlin became obsessed with Arthur, and they danced around each other for nearly four years.   
Then, Merlin had saved his life and it all unravelled around them.

A little over a year later, it was Arthur saving Merlin’s life. In that one fateful night everything changed. Merlin asked Arthur to come with him, and strangely enough, Arthur had.

He still couldn’t quite figure out why, why he had, why Merlin had become more to him than anyone else in his life. Why Merlin’s life was worth more than his career, than his father’s warped expectations, more than the law. 

But it had and he’d run and together they’d never stopped. 

They had spent six months running, leaving trails all over the place and then, then one day Merlin had answered a phone call and the tightness around his eyes had almost disappeared. He’d looked at Arthur and this smile had spread across his face and it had made butterflies erupt in Arthur’s gut he couldn’t banish.   
They’d gone home after that. Back to Camelot. Hiding right under their nose, Merlin said, had always been the best place to hide. And it had been. Merlin had contacts, serious contacts, and Arthur had slotted into his world like he belonged there. And he figured he did.

Pendragon Security and Consulting had been built up around them and was a business front only in Merlin’s world, Merlin’s world of lies and magic, danger and adrenaline. 

Arthur had spent his entire life training himself to fight for the law and in the end he’d wound up using every single one of those skills and morals he’d honed over the years for the opposite team, and he didn’t regret it at all.

Not when it came to the truth. Not when it came to Merlin.

Smiling happily he pulled his wallet out of the drawer and practically bounced on his heels down the stairs. George eyed him, his lips in a solid frown as he walked across the room towards the front doors and freedom.

“I take it you had good news, sir?” he asked. Arthur laughed.

“Merlin’s back, George. I’m getting lunch. Won’t be long.”

“I’ll hold the fort, sir,” George replied, somewhat amiably and Arthur wondered for a moment whether the man was looking forward to having a somewhat affable workplace for the next few weeks or so. It was possible, really, while it wasn’t really his intention, he was standoffish and rather arrogant quite a lot of the time and easily disagreeable unless Merlin was there as mediator. There were reasons, he supposed, George often still called him ‘Mr Dubois’.

Still, for today, at least, Arthur was smiling as he exited PSC, looking forward to the rest of the day.

*

There was a surprising lack of traffic on the trip back from the airport, which, after talking with Arthur, Merlin was grateful for. He spent the entirety of the trip watching the scenery pass by almost hungrily, mentally ticking off each corner and landmark as they neared the Citadel and the small shop with it’s top floor office in the alleyways behind the quadrangle. He ignored the driver and spent the entire trip silent. By the end his leg was bouncing up and down with his mixed enthusiasm and anxiety. Fishing fifty quid out of his wallet he passed it through to the driver and slid out of the car before waiting for change. The building was quiet as per usual and Merlin’s mixed emotions sort of dulled themselves in the wake of being back, back on fixed, solid, familiar ground. Humming to himself quietly he hop skipped up the last of the footpath to the door, dragging his suitcase along behind with little care for what was in there. He travelled enough that they never bothered with duty free and any of the expensive wines he’d have bothered purchasing cheaper he could get for next to nothing anyway. A small suggestion to his next client could get him an entire case on top of his usual charge and they’d still smile when he handed over the goods. That was his charm. Or PSC’s charm, these days. 

George looked up with his usual solemn fair as Merlin pushed his way inside and wheeled his suitcase to a stop beside the desk.

“Good trip, sir?”

“Simple enough,” he shrugged, leaning his elbows on the counter and hoping that George wasn’t going to bring up the smudges under his eyes. Arthur would, but Arthur was demanding and authoritative and would be more likely to kiss both of Merlin’s eyelids before he told Merlin off for not sleeping. As annoying as Arthur could be at times, right that second Merlin was sort of looking forward to it.

“Is he back?”

“It appears you surprised him rather well,” George replied, nodding back towards the door.

“He has yet to return with your food order.”

“Ah, right,” Merlin smiled in spite of himself. “I’ll be upstairs. Send him up to me, yeah?”

“As you wish, sir,” George replied idly watching as Merlin abandoned the suitcase and bounded up the stairs. The office was studiously organised as he petered out to a stop in the doorway. Arthur’s desk was as pristine as ever, the countertop of the bookcase that ran along the back wall was perfectly clean and the books were no doubt in alphabetical order. When Arthur got pedantic, he really went all out. It usually happened when Merlin went away and Arthur got anxious and when Arthur got anxious his control streak got out of control. It was cute, really, knowing how restless his boyfriend got knowing there was nothing he could do, and really, with this job there was nothing Arthur could have done short of getting himself seen. If that happened they were fucked, and proven by his sheer loyalty, Arthur clearly didn’t want to go back to that life. He couldn’t. Not now, not after all this. Merlin had corrupted him in the worst possible way. A Knight of Albion, tarnished by the criminals he’d been chasing. Merlin had turned Arthur Dubois dirty. He’d turned him into one of the most successful consultant criminals; the elusive Pendragon’s talents had done quite a fair amount of damage in the way of the right type of criminals and the wrong type of cops. But at heart, Arthur was a romantic, he was a knight in shining armour, the good guy, and Merlin loved him. There was nothing short of a bullet between the eyes Merlin wasn’t willing to take to ensure Arthur was safe, and really, that was still irrevocably terrifying. 

Smiling softly to himself as he wandered over to Arthur’s desk he took in the empty in-tray and the pristinely clean desktop and he sat down in Arthur’s chair. No matter how much effort Arthur put in to satiating his cleaning streak, Merlin was sure that nothing really work related happened while he was away. Arthur had mentioned the week before about a request to help get a whole lot of gold bullion out of Caerleon with a rather identifying insignia stamped on each brick, but that would be an easy fix and Gwaine would be willing to wait it out. That sort of job was best on the down low anyway. It was slow money, but it was hard money and good in a tight spot, shipped out bit by bit. Besides there was nothing Gwaine or Arthur could have done about it anyway. Melting down gold the normal way took time and effort and _money_ and it always lead with the danger of splashing yourself up your arms to all hell. Besides, everyone involved in the job Merlin knew, was really actually quite attractive. It’d be a sad day to see Gwaine or Percival burnt up those gorgeous forearms because they couldn’t wait a week and have Merlin do it. It was simple for Merlin, with magic it was easy, containable and pretty much a job for an afternoon. 

Beyond that, Merlin had made sure George knew they weren’t taking on jobs unless they were dire and if that was the case, forward it primarily to Gwaine and Percy. Arthur didn’t know, or he pretended not to know and everything went on smoothly. The whole purpose of the Pendragon alias was to keep Arthur safe and thankfully the prat knew enough to keep himself to himself while Merlin was away, on another continent adding to their false trail. Leading his own Emrys alias, the alias every part of Arthur’s old team knew Merlin by, further away from Arthur, safely in Camelot.

Merlin slumped back in Arthur’s chair and braced himself on the desk with his feet, crossing his ankles and sighed as his body started to unwind. Despite being in the air for god knows how long, stuck sitting in business class, legs cramped because no matter how much he paid, he always made up for it by being tall. He’d been sitting for _hours_ but the seats on the plane weren’t leather and they weren’t ergonomic and they weren’t _Arthur’s,_ smelling faintly of his sweat and aftershave. Merlin let his eyes slip closed. Even being this close to Arthur was calming in a way his thousand pound a night hotel suite’s had never been. It was a good thing he was home two days early, because he was bloody well going to spend the entirety of it in bed. Hopefully keeping Arthur there with him. His magic was good for something and it always liked being involved with Arthur as much as Merlin did. When they’d been running around each other in circles, Arthur intent on putting him in prison and Merlin determined to not let that happen, spells he’d put on Arthur had seemed to either a) last twice as long or b) half as long, dependant on how little time Merlin needed to put between himself and the crack level team of secret agents the government had protecting it’s best interests.

He was closer to sleep than he’d like when his instincts kicked in, and it was instinct alone that warned him the person that was climbing the stairs wasn’t Arthur and it certainly wasn’t George.

Merlin sat up, eyes flashing open, his legs tangling as he made to pull them down from the desk just as the door to the office was thrown open.

Merlin caught sight of stringy blond hair and a beard before he threw himself sideways and toppled the chair, just in time for the waterglass on Arthur’s desk to explode in a shower of glass slivers and the rapport of a gun.

Crouched behind Arthur’s desk he had a clear line of sight to the backdoor and his chance at escape, but he also had a good five metre gap where whoever was in the doorway would have a clean open shot.

In that moment he had no idea how bloody stupid they’d been in designing the layout of the bloody office, but he suddenly very aware of the fact their offices needed rearranging. Which given his situation felt very much as hysterical as it was.

“Come now, Mr Dubois, I’d heard you were not a man to cower behind furniture like a coward.”

The man’s voice had a low cadence, but it also had a sharp arrogance to it that came with authority. He expected to be obeyed, even by Arthur. He expected _Arthur_ to surrender. 

And it was clearly Arthur he was here for. Yet surely he’d seen Merlin before Merlin had toppled the chair. He’d certainly had enough time to see for himself that Merlin had _dark hair,_ which made Merlin want to laugh.

“I don’t take well to waiting, Dubois,” the man called again. It was darker, this time and Merlin took another moment to just breathe. Catch his breath a little and calm the fierce pounding in his chest as he crouched behind the desk. He needed to get a grasp on himself before he lost it completely, because something was happening, something dangerous and he needed to get on top of it and quickly.

Merlin took another deep breath and held it for a moment before widening his eyes in half concealed terror and let it out in a long shaky exhale.

“I’m not Mr Dubois,” he called out. He could hear the man take another heavy step forward.

“What?”

“I’m not Mr Dubois,” he said again. “Don’t shoot me. I’m standing up.”

His knees cracked as he unfolded from his crouch and stood up, using the table as a lever. It was far easier to see the layout of his predicament then. The leader was standing three steps from the desk, a semi-automatic in one hand and a flash of annoyance in his eyes.

“Who are you then, boy?” he snarled, walking forward again. His cronies, three middle aged men in suits spilled into the room behind him. Each of them packing, but they gave off an air of confidence that didn’t just come with a gun. He could sense it in them even from across the room, the power they held just under their skin. For those who didn’t know what they were seeing, it would be impossible to tell. But for Merlin… Merlin knew.

He knew first hand exactly what they were hiding.

“Who?” the leader snarled again, this time pressing the barrel of his gun against Merlin’s temple and in true form he flinched, as any good person would.

“M-Merlin Emerson.”

“And who are you, Merlin Emerson, that you curl up in Dubois’ office chair when he’s not here?”

“I’m his business partner. I work for him.”

“You work for him, or is he your partner? That’s not quite clear, Mr Emerson, and really, you’re not in a position to be unclear about things.”

“We’re partners. He knows the jobs and the approach, I know the people. I talk to them, write up the contracts. I run the business side. Whatever this is about I can’t help you.”

“What were you doing in Dubois’ office?”

“Waiting for him. I was waiting. I only got back to Camelot an hour ago. I needed to talk to him.”

“Then where is he?”

“He went to get lunch. I swear.”

“Well then, let’s call him, shall we? Pull out your phone, Mr Emerson. Let’s see if Arthur can’t solve both our problems because otherwise you’re going to be in a position you’re not going to like.” 

He smiled, low and menacing and yanked the scarf off Merlin’s neck. A noise caught in his throat involuntarily and the smirk in repute made him almost shiver. 

Whatever this was, it was bad. 

The man held the scarf out to one of his cronies.

“Take this down to Brant, give it to the mewling receptionist and turn him out on the street. He can tell Dubois what he wants to hear after he gets off the phone.”  
He turned his attention back on Merlin and for a second, Merlin saw his eyes flash gold.

They were all sorcerers. At least he knew his senses weren’t lying.

Great.

“You’re going to give me your phone.”

So Merlin did.

*

“That pretty boy of yours back in town then, Arthur?” Cathy winked as she wrapped the second sandwich in baking paper, folding the corners and pulling a green marker pen out of her back pocket. 

“Got back about an hour or so ago,” he smiled, thumbing a note from his wallet as she put the second sandwich in the bag and moved to the till.

“And he’s already sending you out for lunch? Lazy boy, tell him I said so.”

“You know Merlin,” Arthur smiled, handing over the note and waving away any change. “Apparently he’s missed your mayo.”

Cathy laughed and her eyes danced as he waved a goodbye. Cathy turned her gaze towards the next customer as he opened the door on the fridge and pulled out the two drinks he’d paid for. He was tucking the sandwich under his arm as his phone rang and his smile stayed put as he answered. 

“I remembered the carrot this time,” he said in the phone, balancing the lot with the precision that came with the truly gifted or those with long practice.  
Arthur was both.

The other end of the phone was silent for a moment and Arthur pulled it away from his ear to check. Merlin’s name was still showing steady and he pressed it back to his ear.

“Merlin, if you’ve pocket dialled me again – “ he said, his voice gruff and exasperated, still tainted enough with the fond cadence that came with a fortnight apart.

 _“I assure you, Mr Dubois,”_ a foreign voice answered and immediately Arthur’s blood ran cold. _“That your… Merlin’s call was indeed intentional. However, I fear I must inform you, that he will not be accompanying you for lunch. In fact, I’ll find your friend has very much lost his appetite and if you do not listen to me carefully, it will not be the only thing your friend loses. He has an eager tongue, for one thing. I must say that I won’t hesitate to cut it out if the need arises.”_

Arthur could feel his stomach fall like a rock, his blood pounding.

“I’m listening.”

_“Very good. Now, I’m going to give you an hour, Arthur. I’m going to give you an hour to call in all the favours you need, because in an hour, I’m going to ask you for something, and if you don’t deliver then, well, Merlin here, is going to meet grave misfortune.”_

 

*

Gathering information about his targets and his surroundings had become second nature to Merlin. It was ingrained in him, a founding talent imbued in him by his mother and he was forever grateful for it. 

It had become extremely useful when he’d been actively causing trouble for the sake of causing trouble, and it was going to be extremely useful now, he reckoned, as he eyed the leader of the group of four standing in his and Arthur’s office. The leader was the tallest of the bunch, tall and broad, with curling dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. He had small piercing eyes and dressed with a flair he couldn’t quite pull off. There was something unbelievable about the suit he was wearing, dark colours and heavily layered. It just didn’t quite work for him, much the same way the fake rolex on his wrist wasn’t a real rolex, but simply dressed to impress. Merlin mentally found himself naming the man Folex as he watched him stalk across the room, his gun still in hand and just close enough to the widows to be able to see outside but far enough away he couldn’t be seen. The man wasn’t an armature. He clearly thought things through. He’d come with three cronies to deal with Merlin, or as he’d planned – Arthur – and more downstairs. With George.

“The man downstairs. You didn’t hurt him did you?” Merlin asked and watched carefully, biting his lip in a show of nervous terror, as Folex turned around sharply and eyed him.

“You’ll keep quiet, boy, if you know what’s good for you. We let him go. It’s you I think you should be worrying about,” Folex snarled and nodded to one of his cronies, a heavyset man with a balding spot high on his head Merlin guessed he was the last one to know about. Balding stepped forward and smacked him hard on the jaw. The jarring pain travelled sharply up Merlin’s jawline and he whimpered, not entirely just for effect. Balding smiled, a leering grin that could shatter glass as Merlin hunched his shoulders and cradled the side of his face. 

“Tie him up would you?” Folex snarled, emphasising his order with a wave of his gun. This time Merlin didn’t argue, he didn’t move unless he was guided by the two left in the room who both jumped to Folex’s commands. Balding was quick to follow, his grip tight and his movements hard and unrelenting as he forced Merlin down into Arthur’s chair once again and the second man, who grunted in affirmation before he complied to Folex’s demand, dragged the chair across the room. Grunt held it in place while Balding forced Merlin to sit. Balding held Merlin’s wrists tight enough to bruise against the arm rests on the chair. He leant his weight over Merlin and he could smell the rank odour of the man’s breath, warm and sickly sweet like rotten fruit. Every part of Merlin tried not to gag and flinch in badly hidden revulsion as Grunt moved around behind them. It didn’t take long before the man was back with a length of rope and Merlin watched as they tied each of his hands to the rests. They could have bound him magically; each of them in the room had enough magic in them for something like that. It wasn’t hard and didn’t require a great amount of talent at all. Balding probably couldn’t do much more than that with his talents, but one thing Merlin had known over the years was that even those with minimal talent had the ability to have their lives fall down around them due to things they couldn’t explain. Even those who could do little more than light a candle could do immense damage if they couldn’t control when their magic happened. Fear had a way of corrupting people.

The duo finished tying Merlin up and the man he’d nicknamed Grunt, grunted to alert Folex. Merlin watched as the man turned back to him. The sharp glint in his eyes hadn’t disappeared at all, in fact, if anything there was a fiercer gleam to it, more feral. More dangerous. It was something Merlin was familiar with, something that he’d seen more than once growing up. His childhood had not been simple, or easy. His mother had been privy to the dangers a magical child faced and had been desperate to protect him from them. They hadn’t stayed in one place for long, and each time they’d moved and Merlin had seen the pinch of fear and concern in his mother’s kind face, he’d met a selection of men with a selection of expressions. Each and every one of them, he’d learned later, had some form of magic; were hiding in one capacity or another, and each of them had been wrung out by the world. But every one of them had helped his mother, had helped her move her life from one town to another, one name to the next. They had helped her move a child that had more magic than any of them. Though they didn’t know that, otherwise his childhood might have been different again. 

He wasn’t naive enough to think that they had all be saintly. They’d all been kind to a woman and her son in a similar situation, but Merlin had met a few of them when he too had turned against the society who had made him an outsider. Who had punished him, unfairly, for the gift by which he had been born. He had met a few of them and he had seen the savage glint of men who happily did more harm than good; men that enjoyed breaking the law, breaking boundaries, breaking people.

The man in front of him bore than same arrogance, that same hard won anger that had festered into something dangerous.

“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, adding the waver to his voice that he knew the man desired. He was an easy man to read, even without magic to help things along the way, and Merlin was brilliant at reading people. He had made it his craft. He was good at it, and he enjoyed it and it didn’t take an expert criminal or a sorcerer to know that his captor got off on power. If Merlin deferred to him, showed him some sort of fear, then his arrogance would take Merlin much further to controlling the situation than if he antagonised everything and tried to drive a wedge between everyone in the building. Because the leader was clearly the point of contention; things weren’t as they’d planned.

They’d planned to find Arthur here, not Merlin. Not the ‘partner’ they knew nothing of. They were running completely in the moment and in that Merlin had the advantage.

The man eyed Merlin, sharp brown eyes running up and down Merlin’s body as he stood where he’d stopped. Merlin bit his lip and he watched the tick in the man’s eye, the twitch of muscles under the skin as the man held in a smirk.  
Inside, Merlin smiled.

This could be simpler than he’d hoped, really, and if he played his cards right, he could get out of the situation without even using his magic.

And that was a secret to guard with his life, because even in the underworld, where magic users were more common than anyone seemed to expect, keeping your head down was only an advantage. Because once someone knew you could light a candle with the click of your fingers then it didn’t take long before you were on the Magical Register and then you had Aredian Crewe on your tail. 

Merlin had spent his entire life making sure to keep his name off the Register. His mother had spent nineteen years on the run protecting him, uprooting him and moving every time it was hinted that someone might suspect. The only time Merlin had ever made a friend, had truly settled down into a name, into a life, Will had found out. Merlin had been terrified his mother would make him leave, so they’d not told her. It had been their secret and if anything, they’d been better friends because of it. 

Then one day Will, stupid, loud, toss pot Will had urged Merlin to bloody well change the channel cause he couldn’t be arsed getting up off the couch and Merlin’s mother had heard from the other room. At the time they hadn’t known she was there.

Merlin had walked Will home that afternoon and when he’d got back to the house his mother was packing his clothes into a box and everything had fallen apart.

He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, they were gone before midnight and when they finally stopped he slept on a blown up mattress at the foot of a single bed in the attic of some share house in Escetia. Merlin had refused to let anyone talk themselves into his good graces at the next school after that. He’d been a trouble maker and the school had sent his mother an official notice, warning her if he’d kept up his act he’d have to be expelled. It had been an effort on his part to be as disrespectful as he had been and that notice had been like a reward for his efforts. But it had all been for nothing anyway because they’d had to move again shortly after.

He wasn’t entirely sure that one had been his fault.

No one had known about him, anyway. He’d made sure that no one had even known his first name. It had been the loneliest six months of his life. 

“What do you want with me?” Merlin asked, fixing his attention on Folex. Folex took several steps towards him, each one measured and slow. Menacing. Merlin could almost feel the crackle of magic in the air and he quickly wondered if Folex knew about him. They knew about Pendragon, about the alias they’d created but much like his false Emrys trail, Merlin had been careful about when he moved, about when he did things. What days of the week allowed him the luxury of consulting on jobs, which days allowed him the benefit of working jobs, which days he stayed home with Arthur, and which days he helped hide magic users, helped them move house, names, lives. Helped them stay safe. Arthur helped, and Merlin was almost certain that those late nights when they worked under the cover of darkness and helped transport innocent, terrified people away from the dangers of simply what they could do was the only thing keeping his boyfriend sane. And around. Arthur was a do-gooder, he had a heart of gold and it had been love that had stolen him away from the Knights and the law-abiding world he’d grown up in. But Merlin still wasn’t entirely sure whether love was quite enough to make Arthur stay. 

But the kids they helped, that gave Arthur a purpose, it gave him insight into the stories Merlin had told him during those first six months when he’d asked quietly for Merlin to tell him his story. The truth. So Merlin had, and he had seen the struggle for Arthur to understand this world had been all Merlin had known.  
And it had been Arthur who had asked if Merlin would continue helping Magic users to stay safe. Stay unregistered and off the grid. 

Pendragon was their alias in more worlds than just the criminal. It was an alias and a battle cry all in one and somehow these feral magic users had found Arthur through it. They were here for Arthur and Merlin still didn’t know why. Dubois had been a surname he’d left behind with the Knights. But it was Dubois they were here for.

He was determined to find out why.

“What do I want with you?” Folex repeated as he came to a stop, standing in front of Merlin. The man was tall, taller than he was anyway, but sitting down it was like staring up at a giant. It was a move to intimidate and Merlin wasn’t going to disappoint him, not if it meant they underestimated him as much as he needed them to.

“What do I need with you? Well, Merlin Emerson, right now, you’re a stone in my shoe. You’re a problem. You interrupted several vital plans we had in place and eventually you are going to pay for that. But for now, you’re going to ensure that Arthur Dubois stays in line. That’s what I’m going to do with you. And if Arthur doesn’t do what he’s told, I’m going to cut off each of your fingers and let him listen to you scream. Ok?”

Merlin flinched and watched through his eyelashes as Folex’s lips curved into a satisfied sneer.

Folex turned to Balding.

“Watch him,” he snapped before turning on his heel and stalking across the room to the edge of the window. Merlin bit his lip and watched as he pulled out a phone. Inside Merlin’s self satisfaction cheered. He wasn’t working alone, which meant whoever this was, wasn’t in charge. There were other players – which was both bad and worse, but right now, for Merlin, it was better.

He had a power struggle to play with.

He could use that.

On the other side of the room whoever Folex was calling didn’t take long to pick up and the room wasn’t quite as large as the man might have been expecting. Merlin could hear everything Folex said and he listened attentively, looking down at his lap so not to incite any sort of attention from Balding or Grunt and listen unimpeded.

Folex scowled almost immediately as the person on the other end started talking and once again Merlin had to internalise the desire to smile.

“There was a problem,” Folex said, his tone annoyed and bitter. “Dubois wasn’t here. Some kid was instead. Says he’s Dubois’ partner and Dubois shut up and obeyed damn quick when I told him to.”

Merlin watched as Folex’s shoulders tensed.

“Says his name is Merlin Emerson... well that’s what he said it was. I didn’t stutter and neither did he. Skinny, black hair, big ears – “ there was a pause then and Merlin frowned at Folex’s back as he heard Balding and Grunt snicker just behind him. It didn’t matter how old he was, his ears had decided when he was four that they were going to be bigger for his face than was the norm, and from that point on they had been a point of contention for every bully he’d ever come across, whether it had been in the school yard when he was twelve or facing a loaded sig sauer# from a sour Grunt Man who had a lot of brawn but not enough brains to realise the Point Man was conning him when he’d been twenty one and new to the game. These days, some six years later wasn’t new at all, but his ears still made him open game. His mother had always told him they made him look gangly and sweet and guileless, like a fawn or something. A helpless animal. They certainly helped when he was trying to look normal, blend in with the crowd – because no one seemed to ever suspect the bumbling skinny kid with the big ears all bright red from embarrassment. He’d made off with a priceless Faberge egg in his pocket under that ruse, biting his lip and using wide eyes and spluttering to draw more attention to himself than ever any good crook ever should. 

He always got away with it.

Only this time, he thought with the first edges of concern curling in the corners of his mind, this time might be very different.

“I told you, Dubois gave in quick enough. We can make him get it instead of just getting the info. Tell me that ain’t a good plan... what? You’re sure? ... Understood.”

Merlin watched as Folex squared his shoulders and there was something about it that sent a curl of actual genuine fear go rippling down his spine, because he’d seen that stance before. Those broad shoulders and strong jaw were the exact same reactions Arthur got when Merlin told him he had to stay behind, that he would have to do exactly what Merlin told him and not know why. It was anger and frustration and confusion all rolled up into a man who was used to issuing orders not taking them. He watched, squirming against the ties around his wrists as Folex turned his head, glancing back at them. Merlin could feel his magic buzzing, rippling under his skin like static electricity. Instinctual and ready to burst into action, begging to be released – and it could be so easy. Just a pulsing blast of energy enough to knock them all out and for him to escape; only it was beyond that now. So far beyond it. There was someone else controlling everything, someone who was out for Arthur. Because it was really Arthur this was about. Merlin could escape but then it still came back to the fact these people were after Arthur and they were dangerous. They’d grown cocky, he’d gotten lax, been too caught up in those old jobs where it was just him and his goal and the rushing feel of adrenaline and magic. He’d invested too much in the fact that it could be just Arthur’s team who were after him. He’d forgotten about everyone else, enemies Arthur made working for the Knights. 

Merlin watched as Folex grit his teeth and turned around completely, behind him Grunt took a step forward and Merlin tensed, wildly looking from one to the other – which is why he left his right side completely open to the stinging blow Balding dealt him as Folex gave the pair of them another short curt nod. 

Merlin felt the heavy blow to the side of his head and the world blurred and tilted alarmingly quickly and he felt the chair tip on him once again and for the second time in an hour he fell backwards only this time he wasn’t conscious as he hit the floor.

*

The words that had come from the speaker on his phone still echoed in Arthur’s brain as he hung up on autopilot. Merlin. Someone had Merlin –   
Panic overrode his basic instincts he’d thought growing up with Uther Constance could never remove and he was running back towards the office harder than he’d run in years. Their lunch was scattered on the pavement behind him as Arthur ran up the street. He could barely hear above the sound of his brain on repeat – _they have Merlin, someone has Merlin, they have Merlin_ \- as he burst around the corner and came to a stop, staring at the front of his building. It loomed up over the sidewalk and sitting slumped on the footpath just outside the doors, was George.

The sound of his shoes on bitumen echoed in Arthur’s brain as he ran the distance over to their assistant.

“George,” he said, grabbing hold of the man, fumbling to catch his breath and retain at least a semblance of control.

“I’m afraid, Mr Dubois, that the building is rather out of our control at present,” George said with all the bluster of his normal speech despite the fact there was an unfocused glean in his eyes as he looked at Arthur.

“They said to give you this. I believe Master Merlin is still inside,” he said, pressing a fold of cloth into Arthur’s hands. Arthur took it and it only took a second to recognise the red scarf Merlin had stolen from him all those years ago, back when he was nothing but a smirk and a flash of black hair on security footage and a list of fraud and felony half a mile long. 

It was still pinned with the Pendragon crest Arthur had given him last year in some half hearted joke to do with his possessive determination when it came to Merlin.

Knowing he wasn’t marked anymore, that he wasn’t wearing Arthur’s seal…  
Somehow that made it all the more terrifying.

“Did they say what they want?” he croaked, looking back up at George and clutching the scarf tightly.

“Not at all, Sir. They did make it rather clear that you would be informed rather promptly, Sir.”

“And Merlin?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see him, there were quite a number of them, and I’m afraid I was distracted by the fellow pointing a rather large gun in my general area. It did not take long before they arrived downstairs with that, however. It appears you may have been successful in teaching your partner the worth in laying low, Sir.”

“We can only hope,” Arthur croaked and glanced up at the building. There was nothing he could do on his own. If Merlin had surrendered then there was no chance that Arthur could break him free on his own if Merlin hadn’t tried. Despite appearances Merlin was much better at taking care of himself than he let on, a fact that had taken all of twelve months on the run for Arthur to properly comprehend. 

“I need you to go home, George. Lay low, alright? I will call you when this is done. Until then, stay safe, all right?”

“Understood, sir,” George nodded and Arthur dragged the man to his feet. George shared a glance with him before he obeyed and started a slow stuttering walk up the alley towards the main street to find a taxi. Arthur needed to do the same. He had an hour. They’d given him an hour to do what he needed to do in order to obey them. Any normal person would have used that hour to call the cops if they’d been in the same position, if they’d been given the chance to find help without restriction. And these people knew who he was, they knew who he was which meant they knew his past and when they said he could find help, Arthur was almost certain they intended for him to call in the Knights. Leon and Lance and Elyan and Gwen. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. They should have been his own first instincts and a part of him mourned the loss. They couldn’t help him. They couldn’t help him ever again, not without recourse; he could never knowingly bestow upon them any more than he already had by jumping ship and switching sides.

No, his help lay on Merlin’s side of the fence.

He needed Gwaine and Percy and anyone else they could get their hands on. If he was lucky Gwaine would let him help them rescue Merlin without breaking any of his major bones or puncturing any internal organs. But there was no one else on the planet Arthur would entrust Merlin’s safety with than the duo Merlin had been working with prior to what Merlin called the Arthur Debacle. 

For safety sake, Gwaine’s townhouse wasn’t far away and for an extra twenty quid even the safest Camelot cabbie was open to upping the speed limit and taking all the shortcuts.

But for all the time he saved getting from the office to Gwaine’s he wasted standing on the front doorstep feeling a moment of complete utter uselessness.  
Merlin had become his everything, he had given up everyone else in his entire life for the criminal with the cheeky smile and taunting game they shared and he had become everything in Arthur’s life worth living and to lose that...

Arthur shuddered and turned back to the door with a returned vigour he couldn’t withhold. Arthur pounded on the front door until his fist was nearly numb. He could hear the swearing from Gwaine long before the long haired lothario actually opened the door. 

“Hello, Princess,” Gwaine smirked almost immediately, still all sarcastic drawl and arrogance. Arthur swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Someone’s got Merlin.”

Arthur watched as the arrogant smirk _fell_ off Gwaine’s face and his expression scrambled for something other than fear. And that was the real price of Gwaine’s worth. He’d been in with Merlin for years. Years before Arthur found himself in Merlin’s bed, but Arthur had always been Merlin’s infatuation the entire time Gwaine and Merlin had been friends. They’d been more than that, once; this off and on relationship between jobs that was fuelled by the heady infatuation of sex and job-induced adrenaline. They’d been brilliant. Arthur could still remember the six months where Merlin had been everywhere. Where Merlin had gone from a little menace on the wanted list, into the top twenty and an order to _‘find him now, Dubois, right now’_ ordered from the head of the Knights themselves. At the time Arthur had been infuriated, it had taken him months to figure out Merlin had found himself a partner (or two) and a partner he’d liked and stuck with. What was worse was that he’d never figured out who the partner was. He’d had pictures of Gwaine. Security footage from a museum heist they’d run together, but he’d been a face in the crowd and Arthur hadn’t known he’d found his man until _after_ he’d left the Knights and Merlin had dragged him out of Camelot in the middle of the night and they hadn’t stopped until they’d reached an underground bachelor pad in upper Caerleon and he’d met Gwaine.

Percy had been in on that job, too, but Percy had been in on that job (and a number of others) in a way that was possibly worse than Gwaine. In that when Arthur had thought Merlin had suddenly learned how to forge paintings... that had been Percy and Percy alone. The man had never been in any footage at all. He hadn’t existed in Arthur’s files. But Percy was soft spoken and quietly hilarious and intelligent. Gwaine was brash and infuriating on purpose and never let Arthur forget that he hadn’t identified, let alone caught him.

But no matter how long he and Merlin had been sleeping together and no matter how long Arthur had listened to Gwaine berate Merlin for _kidnapping your fucking Knight like a dick; do you want to get caught?_ \- He was loyal and he cared for Merlin.

And Arthur could trust him with his life.

What was better – he could trust him with Merlin’s.

Arthur was silent as he watched the outrage clamour for space in Gwaine’s expression as Gwaine pushed himself off the doorframe.

“Fucking Christ in a bucket,” Gwaine swore, running a hand through his long, tousled hair and jogged across the room, leaving Arthur to close the door and follow him inside.

“How? Who told you?” he asked, throwing the questions over his shoulder sharply as he hurried up the hallway and then through a door and downwards, into the lower floor built into the hillside.

“I got the call twenty minutes ago. From what I can guess they surprised him in the office.”

“The office?” Gwaine stopped short and Arthur barely caught himself before he bumped into the other man. Gwaine narrowed his brown eyes and stared at Arthur. 

“Download everything now, Princess,” he snarled. “Merlin’s supposed to be off base for another two days.”

“He came back early. Called me at twelve or so and told me to go and get him something to eat. I went to the bloody sandwich shop and by the time I get out I get a call off Merlin’s mobile. Someone else was on the other end. They were after me, Gwaine, and Merlin got caught instead.”

It must be the guilt Arthur couldn’t hide in his voice or the tense worry that was stiff in his shoulders but there was a moment where he was almost certain Gwaine was going to punch him in the face and Arthur wouldn’t stop him except for the very reason Gwaine stopped himself: Merlin.

“How long you got?”

“Just over half an hour before they call back and tell me what the hell they want.”

“And you got any idea what that might be, Princess?”

Arthur stopped and let his mind wander for the first time since he seized up after the call. He hadn’t a clue. 

“No.”

“Then we start with the building then. Perce!” Gwaine shouted the last and on the other side of the room a hulking shadow moved into Arthur’s stronger field of sight. Percival looked anxious and not for the first time Arthur thanked the heavens that Merlin’s team were very much like the Knights had been – ready in an instant for all sorts of shite to go down. In fact, Merlin’s team were almost better. After all, their freedom often hinged on how fast they responded; the Knights only had their team pride on the line. Not their entire lives.

“On it,” Percy said as he turned his attention fully to the computer in front of him, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in similar fashion to how Arthur had seen Merlin’s. The screen in front of the other man scrolled with code, brilliant blue against black before a second window opened and then a third and then, without warning, Arthur was suddenly staring at the main camera footage from the top corner of his office.

“Aaaand we’re up!” Gwaine crowed, slapping Percy on the back. Two pairs of eyes turned to Arthur after that but neither one of them said anything as he remained quiet, just looking. There were four figures within the room, three standing, dressed in black, two of which were stationary around the fourth, the first was pacing, back and forth his back to the camera. But framed in shot, sitting slumped in Arthur’s chair, was Merlin. 

Arthur’s stomach jolted. It had been over a fortnight since he’d seen him, fifteen days since he’d pressed his fingers to Merlin’s skin and felt butterflies in his stomach like every time they touched. Since he’d kissed him and held him and watched his eyes flash in outright indignation.

It had been fifteen days and now Merlin was blocks away and unconscious, his head hanging forward and his body lax. From the angle they couldn’t see what had happened but from the two men standing either side of him it didn’t take much to put it all together.

“How are you seeing that? How?” he croaked, pointing at the screen. “Merlin swore to me it was a closed network. He had Gilli hardwire everything himself so it was.”

“It is a closed network, Princess,” Gwaine replied, rolling his eyes, but his shoulders were tense and Arthur’s fingers prickled. “Then how – “ he asked, suddenly feeling vulnerable and not appreciating it for a second.

“Merlin,” Gwaine answered, turning in his seat to look up at Arthur and he calmed, almost instinctively. 

“There are two passwords encrypted into the network,” Percy supplied quietly. Looking a little guilty, which probably meant he had helped in some vague way. Like sitting in the second spinney chair and watching Merlin create the program. “When you type in one then you get the normal version. You type in the second, it keeps an external record of everything that happens in the system and it boots a hidden shortcut that when opened gives us access into the network.”

“So basically, if at any given time Merlin types in the wrong password he’s opening up my entire company records to you pair?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Princess,” Gwaine replied, spinning in his chair and back to the input monitor where there were the thumbnails of every camera they’d built into PSC. At the time they’d been overly cautious, optimistic that they’d laid enough false trails; that they’d been fast enough, clever enough – that Arthur knew his team well enough to be safe. But Merlin had laid precautions and he’d laid more precautions than he’d told Arthur about and in that moment the secrecy hurt. Clenching his fingers tightly into the supple leather of Gwaine’s chair he stared at the large LED screens mounted on the wall above the desk. He could feel the two of them watching him.

It was Percival who broke the quiet. 

“It’s a security measure that’s coming in valuably now, Arthur,” he said and Arthur could feel his soft calculating gaze watching him, like a warm weight.  
Yeah, Arthur thought wryly, now I get to see when they shoot him.

He continued to focus on the screens, but that didn’t mean he missed the sharp look shared between Percival and Gwaine. Gwaine’s unhappy growl as he turned back to the screens didn’t help them either.

“You do remember the part where Merlin was a crook, right, Pendragon?” Gwaine asked, emphasising the alias Merlin had created for him, for them; Arthur scowled and looked down at him sharply.

“And what does that mean?”

“What that means is you have fucking backup plans for your backup plans. And right now, Merlin’s backup plans let’s us in on them, alright? You might’ve gone soft in the last couple of years, but Merlin’s been keeping a sharp eye out for you, and I wouldn’t hazard three guesses on which of you those bastards came for.”

“Gwaine don’t,” Percival hushed but the damage had already been done. The blame had been laid and there was no taking it back. Not that Arthur could have let it go anyway. Gwaine’s words were the truth, after all, a truth he’d thought of himself. But when it was your own blame... it sounded worse coming from someone else, even someone like Gwaine. Merlin hadn’t been supposed to be back. He was supposed to be on the other side of the world still, protecting Arthur by dragging his old alias through a job or two, while Arthur stayed in Camelot, with their new life, their new world, representing their dual venture. Pendragon wasn’t just Arthur, but it was Arthur it was created to hide first and foremost. 

“Merlin’s supposed to be on the other side of the world for another two days. He’s not supposed to be here, and you can guarantee that those bastards right there knew he was gone. They were there for Dubois here,” Gwaine raged and his expression was heated enough that Percy didn’t try and stop him and neither did Arthur. “They were here for him and Merlin’s gonna pay for it, so I suggest that Princess here better stop being so butthurt Merls thought well enough to stay two steps ahead and get his head in the game, cause Merlin’s relying on _him_ now, not the other way around.”

Gwaine let out another disgruntled growl and got to his feet, his chair spinning on its axis as he stalked across the room.

“Where are you going?” Arthur growled and Gwaine shot him a dirty look.

“I’m getting the laptop.”

Neither Arthur nor Percy said a word as they listened to Gwaine stalking up the stairs, his feet heavy on the landing.

Arthur sighed and turned back to the screen, his stomach jolting uncomfortably again as he looked at Merlin. He couldn’t see enough of him, he needed to know everything. Everything about the people who had him, everything about what had happened; most importantly he needed to know why.

“Have faith in him, Arthur,” Percy said softly and Arthur knew he was following Arthur’s gaze. Merlin still hadn’t moved, not even a twitch of his fingers. Arthur’s fear didn’t lessen. He had faith in Merlin, he did. It was faith in himself he needed more of.

“I’ll have faith in him when he’s at home trying to rewire shortcuts into the microwave, not when he’s in the middle of my bloody building with a bunch of armed mercenaries intent of getting something out of me.”

“Now that’s where we need to focus, Arthur. What’s clear here, no matter what Merlin may have thrown into the mix by getting held hostage in your stead, is that you have something they want. If we can figure out what that is before they do, we have a greater chance of intercepting it and replicating a safe copy before we hand it over.”

Arthur glance down at his watch, there were eighteen minutes until they called.

“They’ll call with their demands in a little under twenty minutes.”

“Then we know what we’re dealing with then and when we do, we’ll figure it all out. Until then we search the room and see what we can figure out about these guys,” Percy said with a grim smile that Arthur returned. Percy’s pragmatism worked – whatever part of Arthur that had failed Merlin for the last half an hour disappeared and he braced himself against the back of Percy’s chair.

“You’re going to have to be my eyes, Percival; I can’t work Merlin’s system for anything.”

Percy chuckled wryly.

“Neither can Gwaine, but don’t tell him I said that. He thinks he’s got a handle on it. You should hear Merlin mumbling under his breath every time Gwaine gets his paws on it. It’s hilarious.”

Percy’s fingers on the keys were already moving and the second screen was scrolling through code faster than Arthur could keep track.

“Now, what can we see – “ Percy said, not really expecting an answer but this, this is what Arthur had been trained for. He had a job now, he had goals and access to information and he could use that. 

“There are three upstairs, my guess is there’s more downstairs. Can you pull up the camera’s facing away from the entrance? That should have the best viewpoint.”

Percy typed and while he wasn’t as fast as Merlin, it didn’t take him long for the camera view to swap. He went through four angles before they found the right one and by then Arthur could hear Gwaine coming back down the stairs.

“Who the fuck are they?” Gwaine asked as Arthur stared at the second angle.

“Three upstairs plus Merlin, four downstairs. Can we bring up both cameras at once? Upstairs on that screen, downstairs on the second?” Arthur asked, pointing at two of the six monitors stretching across the wall. Merlin’s set up was ridiculous: substantial and brilliant, but ridiculous. The tech at the Knights Base was more advanced than what they had here, but Merlin made LED screens bought online, fibre optic cables and his own complex Operating System work to the same standards as Gwen’s system that was worth more than Arthur’s old house was marketed at.

“We got screen snapshots Perce? Throw em over and I’ll start running them through Merl’s database, see if we ain’t come across any of these blokes before,” Gwaine muttered, throwing himself down into his chair and opening the laptop he’d gone upstairs to fetch. That, Arthur recognised, it was the same layout OS that Merlin had created for him at the office: simple and easy, a blend between Windows 7 and Mac’s Snowleopard. Idiot Proof, is what Merlin had called it.

Merlin must have given Percy lessons on how to work _his_ system, because the man did exactly what Gwaine had asked of him with little fuss. He wasn’t as fast as Merlin was, but Merlin had made computer programs into an art. It was his fun growing up. His mother had managed to get him a broken computer on one of their moves once and Merlin had told him how he’d spent the next year learning how to fix it, how to pull it apart and make it work. How he’d then turned to programming, learning new ways to make the battered old machine to do old things, learning old things to make the machine do new things – a complex circle of give and take that evolved with the computers and Merlin’s own frustrations with the world he had no say in. By the time he’d stumbled onto Arthur’s attention span he was so adept at computer programs and hacking that it had been the hacking that had made Arthur suspicious his target had an accomplice. At that point in time Arthur had spent weeks searching for someone who might have been working with Merlin, but no one had appeared. Merlin had gone underground after he’d hacked into a wireless security system and rerouted the feed entirely for long enough to break in and clean out a safe owned by a significant collector of antiquities. After that, when he surfaced again he actually did have a partner, but Arthur still hadn’t found him. That had been Gwaine. Nine months later there was also Percy and it would take another six months before Arthur would actually get his hands on Merlin. Except he’d only managed that because Merlin had come back to save his life. So in exchange Arthur had conveniently been elsewhere while Merlin had picked his handcuffs and disappeared.

Arthur watched as Percy’s fingers clicked against the keys and as he rolled through the footage in front of them, highlighting the clearest shots of their enemies faces and typing something again, only for the images to show up on Gwaine’s laptop.

The task kept their attention fixed as Gwaine opened Merlin’s database and submitted each of the seven photographs into the program and they all watched the little scrolling box in the bottom corner flashing with face after face so quickly only the computer had any idea who they were looking at.  
They were all so consumed that when Arthur’s phone rang it came completely by surprise.

The phone buzzed on the table and automatically everyone’s eyes turned to it. Arthur set his jaw and he reached out and picked up the phone, answering and pressing loudspeaker in a fluid movement. Everyone else knew to keep their mouths shut, anyway.

“This is Arthur.”

“ _It’s been an hour, Arthur. Are you comfortable with your friends and confidants?_ ” the speaker buzzed and immediately set Arthur’s teeth on edge, he looked at the screen where the man on the phone was walking idly over to Merlin. Arthur grit his teeth.

“What do you want?”

“ _Straight to the point, I see. I like that,_ ” the man chuckled and came to a stop in front of Merlin. “ _Tell me, Arthur, how much do you value your business partner?”_  
Arthur knew he couldn’t give away the fact that they were watching, that he knew that the man he was talking to was bending over Merlin as he taunted Arthur, reaching out with his second hand and holding Merlin’s head up off his chest. He had to pretend he couldn’t see the purpling swollen skin over Merlin’s right cheek, the dark stain that could only be blood where the skin had broken.

“He is valuable to me,” Arthur grit out, determined to keep his voice steady, maintain control.

“ _How valuable?”_ the man asked and he let go of Merlin’s chin, Arthur watched as Merlin’s head lolled forward again, limp like a rag doll. “- _because I have a very specific request of you, Arthur, and I will not hesitate a moment to teach you how very serious I am about completing it. Are you willing to bear his blood on your hands by not complying?”_

The man turned away from Merlin, walking towards the camera again. Arthur   
tightened his grasp on the phone.

“Tell me what you’re after.”

“Ah, _so his life has a price, then? I had heard such good things about you, Arthur.”_

“What do you want?”

“ _Back to business. I like you. It’s a shame that we didn’t get to meet as planned.”_

“So tell me what you want, Merlin’s already in a situation that doesn’t concern him.”

_“So honourable. Tell me, Arthur, do you remember all those names you scrawled through day after day working in that compound? Because there is one man I am very interested in. His name is Kil Gareth, he was a researcher for the Knights MRD. I want his file. Everything the Knights have on him, and maybe, just maybe, if I find what I’m looking for, then I’ll let your friend go. But if you fail, Arthur, I’m going to gut him and make you listen. You have until midnight. Get the file and if you have it when I call back, then we’ll discuss letting little Merlin here see sunlight again.”_

The click of the phone call ending echoed in the space between the three of them. Arthur sighed and set the phone down. Just in time for Gwaine to smash the uncomfortable quiet with his special brand of abrasive annoyance.

“What the fuck is a MRD?” 

Despite himself, Arthur’s lips twitched and in his head for a moment all he could think about was the way Merlin would always smile at Gwaine’s direct questions. All it took was a glance up at the monitor at Merlin’s unconscious body to set him back to rights.

“It stands for Magical Research Department. The Knights had one; it was shut down twenty five years ago or so. Back then Knights recruited magic users. It went so far as each unit had it’s own sorcerer, so that if it was ever needed, it could be used. They were trusted. Important. Then my father turned on them and since then they’ve been pushed further and further over the edge. The MR Department at the Knights used to develop magical aids, for the sorcerers and their units. Bombs, lock picks, shields – you name it. Magical weaponry. After my father deemed all sorcerers untrustworthy it was shut down and everything destroyed. 

“If they want a file on a guy who worked for MRD, then there’s something he was looking into that they want.”

“And now you’re the one who has to get it,” Gwaine supplied, looking furious.

“And Merlin could be the one they want to use it,” Percival said quietly and both Arthur and Gwaine turned towards him so fast their necks cricked.

“What?”

“You heard me. Merlin’s powerful. He might not be on the register, but if he was, he’d be well up the scale. If they figure that out, then they could very well force him to do what it is they’re after. I mean, if any of them are sorcerers, which I’ll lay first bets and say that they are, anything that they’re gonna do is gonna be bigger if the magic’s bigger.”

“Fucking hell, didn’t think of that,” Gwaine swore, running a hand through his hair. 

Arthur said nothing for a moment, instead he looked up at the monitor again. Merlin wouldn’t let them use him like that. Merlin wasn’t dangerous. He made a point of not being harmful to people. Sure, he stole their property – but it was never from anyone who couldn’t afford to lose it. He never harmed the guards or the owners. Hell, Merlin was the type who smuggled families into the Underground as soon as their names hit the Witchfinder’s database. Who helped them find their feet again and get a grip on the magic that had made them an outcast, so that they wouldn’t disappear into the system. He was the type to keep doing it even after he ran away with the Director of the Knights prodigal son. Merlin was a good person, a good person who had grown up in a bad world and he kept on being a good person despite the world he still lived in.

Arthur knew Merlin wouldn’t hurt anyone intentionally – but the one thing   
Arthur knew about Magic, was that sometimes it didn’t leave choices down to the person carrying them out. Magic could make Merlin do something dangerous and Merlin would spend the rest of his life regretting not being strong enough to stop it.

“We need to have faith in Merlin,” Arthur croaked and felt the two of them watching him.

“We have faith that Merlin will do whatever it takes to stall them on their end. We need to move on our end.”

“And what do we do, Princess? You know that building of yours – we aint got the resources or the people to storm that place. There’s seven of them in there, besides and Merls is out for the count.”

“We’re not going in. We’re getting him out. And right now, that means getting this file on fucking Kil Gareth and handing it over.”

“You want to get the file?”

“We have to. We don’t have anything else to do. They don’t want anything else. They have Merlin and they want a file or they’ll kill him. I’m not going to argue. I’m going to get him the file with or without the help of you two lackeys.”

“Alright Princess, calm it down,” Gwaine said, his voice patronising but he counteracted it by turning back to the computer.

“Fuck – “ the word was out of his mouth before Percy could answer and the joviality was gone completely.

Arthur turned to face him but there was movement on the monitors that stopped him from leaning over Gwaine’s shoulder and he was pretty sure he was looking at the same thing anyway.

Arthur watched in abject horror as the two goons either side of Merlin hacked at the ropes binding Merlin to the chair. Between the two of them they hoisted him out of it like he was a rag doll. His body was limp and weightless in their grasp and Arthur had to turn away from the screens to stop himself doing something reckless and stupid – like smashing the monitors.

“They’re leaving PSC,” Percy murmured.

None of them spoke for a long moment, just watching as Merlin disappeared out of the first camera and moments later reappeared in the second. As they carried him out of the building the three of them clearly saw the shadowing bruise up the side of Merlin’s face and it stirred the anger bubbling in the pit of Arthur’s gut.

“We find this file. Screw it, we find this fucking Kil Gareth himself if it’s easier and we get him back.”

“Aye aye,” Gwaine replied and turned to the laptop. “I’ll check Merl’s database, see if he’s in there.”

“Percy? Merlin said he had access to my files at the Knights. He said he had a backdoor into the system. Can you find it? It might be this simple, but I doubt it. I need you to check anyway.”

Percy nodded and turned back to the main monitor and started typing. 

*

There was a crick in Merlin’s neck when he made the first circle into consciousness. There was a crick in his neck and there was something keeping his hands bound. His fingers twitched and the spasm carried up his arm and into his aching shoulders. His eyelids were heavy and refused to obey his command to open the first time. He tried to lift his head but the movement triggered something in the darkness and with a groan that echoed far too loud in his own ears he slumped back into unconsciousness.

He didn’t know how long it was when he made the second lap, but something had changed in the time frame because lifting his head didn’t send him spiralling back into the darkness again. The ache in his shoulders hadn’t lessened and as he took stock of himself he couldn’t quite place a reason for them hurting. 

It didn’t take particularly long for him to realise that he wasn’t alone. His magic was fizzing under his skin, burning merrily away and screaming to be let out and play. It heightened his senses, driving them outward and he could practically feel the shift in the air as the person moved somewhere behind him, the faint warmth of their own magic.

Slowly opening his eyes he let the light, soft and grey as it was, filter into his vision at a snails pace until it no longer made him flinch. His head throbbed and the skin on his wrists itched under the burn of the rope. His legs weren’t bound, but given the circumstances and the debilitating senses of his body, he knew he was in no condition to even make an escape if he wanted to. Twisting in his chair he made a good show, testing the give of his constraints, testing the give and take of his body. Neither gave him much to work with and he was left again with a thump in his temples and a bruising ache in his chest and shoulders. 

Behind him the person shifted and there was a faint click of sound that Merlin felt justifiable to acknowledge. He twisted his body as far as it would go and wound up craning his neck more than anything.

“Who are you - ?” he croaked before he’d even finished turning. It had been a bad idea because the words cut off on his tongue as he saw who was sitting across from him.

“Come now, Merlin, is this really necessary?” Morgana’s lip curled in imitation of what could have once been a pretty smile. There was a sharpness about her that was all Merlin had known. She had been forced to harden herself, and he’d been sad about that part of her the first time they’d met. But then that outer shell had excluded her, shielded her in a way that she probably shouldn’t have embraced. She’d cut herself off from the world, the good parts of it, anyway, and in the end something had... warped. Turned sour. 

“Morgana,” he acknowledged and she laughed. A tinkering sound that had a sinister sneer about it.

“I must say, Merlin, it’s good to see you. Not exactly like this. You’ve been careful about this, clearly. When I heard a rumour all those years ago I thought ‘no, not Merlin’. But it appears I was wrong. You with Dubois? Shocking, really.”

“Is it?”

“Is it shocking to find me here?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I thought as much. But there was a little bit of shock there, Merlin. I saw it. Tell me, did you enjoy your little jaunt with Alvarr and his friends? Because I really must congratulate them on their handiwork; it’s much nicer than I’d hoped to achieve on my own if I ever ran into you on the street like I thought I might. It had always seemed so futile to try and corner you. After all, Arthur tried for so long and what did that get him? He disappeared off the face of the earth two and a half years ago with you.”

“You had a tendency to underestimate me.”

“I know. Which is what makes this so wonderful. I had a plan, but Alvarr brings you straight to me instead. I have to say, this isn’t quite how I expected things to go. But, I’ve thought this through. I have had to make some adjustments in the last couple of hours, but I must say it will be worth it in the long run.”

“What do you want, Morgana?” Merlin spat, watching her as she pushed herself up off the chair. Morgana had always had an air of control. She was a dangerous intimidator, a terrible flirt and stunning all wrapped into one being; she was unstoppable when it came to the type who preferred breasts. Merlin had never been the type and her wares had never quite worked in her favour, which had, in turn, made her both curious and constantly mad at him. A factor only intensified by the fact that he was much better at magic than she was. He was stronger – higher up the Register Scale when they’d tested themselves just for fun one day, when they’d been stupid and high and delirious from tormenting their chasers. But Morgana was nothing if not persistent and she had studied, tested, twisted her magic into doing things Merlin had never tried – had never thought of. Magic had been a toy for him, used when he desired or had need. Morgana had used hers constantly, protected by the simple basis that she had a father who refused to acknowledge her – especially when it came to the magic he despised.  
It had caught up with her, once, and Merlin had come to her aid – but everything had gone south and it had never been the same. He hadn’t seen her in years – closer to four than three – and something had changed. She was malicious; he could see it in her eyes.

“You know what they used to call you, Merlin? Our Saviour. If anyone could fix this, it was you. You, who grew up all over Albion, your mother dragging you through every known Magic Users home in the country. You, who defied logic, who defied grading and boundaries and everything that restricted the rest of us, but what did you put yourself to? Shagging Arthur Dubois, my bastard half brother. Hiding him from the world and thinking of everyone else second. You let us down, Merlin. Let us down when we needed you. So I found a way, a way to help us. Save us all. And you know what it did? It lead right back to you; right back to Arthur Dubois and Uther Constance. Back to the ban itself.”

“Whatever it is, Morgana, you can’t win.”

“Oh but I can, because it’s very simple, Merlin. Either Arthur does what I tell him or I kill you. Or you do what I tell you, otherwise I’ll kill Arthur. Either way, Merlin, I’ll have my way. I will have my way with this.”

“And what way is that?” he snarled, pulling at the ropes binding him.

“Nuh uh, uh,” Morgana tutted, her lips curling into a smirk once again as she leant over him, one hand braced on either of his bound wrists and her nails digging into his skin. Her eyes were bright, fever bright, almost and barely inches away from his face. 

“All in good time, Merlin,” she said, squeezing his arms once for good measure before standing straight again, peering down at him like he was a bug.

“You see, Merlin, as you pointed out – I was waiting for Arthur, today. It was Arthur Alvarr was meant to find – Arthur who I was going to have the pleasure of breaking today, waiting until you returned from your silly little sojourn over the pond leading those foolish Knights of Arthurs away from Camelot. Without Arthur to guide them they’re like soulless sheep, aren’t they? They lost their drive when you took their leader. But it doesn’t matter. That’s in the past, isn’t it? It’s today you have to worry about.”

Merlin narrowed his gaze as he followed her slow steady walk back across the room. Her boots clicking on the cement like a defined point. She stopped at a table, barely taller than her waist, a stack of drawers in stainless steel. Morgana threw Merlin a look over her shoulder and the only emotion Merlin could place on it was glee.

“You see – “ she pulled the drawer open – “While it was meant to be Arthur here today, I am easily adaptable and I still get my fun.” 

She slammed the top drawer closed and from his angle, Merlin couldn’t see what she’d taken out until she turned back to face him and started that slow, steady walk back across the room. There, in each of her hands was a thick black metal cuff. There were no links strung between them, just cold black metal and Merlin felt his first flicker of fear.

“You know what these are, Merlin?” she taunted, holding them up so the light flickered against them, the shadows dancing like flickering flames.

“There aren’t many made for the higher grades. They don’t know how. I studied it, you know. They have to study the magic involved in order to appropriately match the grade, and well, the higher grades don’t like to sit still and let themselves get bound, do they? One blast of power and they’re gone. But these? These were made for the higher grades. Like you and me.”

Merlin stared at the cuff Morgana was holding in her right hand. He couldn’t tear his gaze away and couldn’t quite hold down the fear that was bubbling up inside him. His head was fuzzy and his magic still wouldn’t obey him properly. He didn’t have the time or capacity to stop this and he only had a second before Morgana held him down. He watched in horror as the cuffs opened. He struggled against the ropes holding him down, but against Morgana he had no hope. Not against this. 

“Don’t – “ he croaked and he saw her feral smile before he felt icy metal against his skin and the first awful click as it closed down around his wrist. The cold was immediate. It travelled up his arm, through his bones, deep into him. This icy chill that _hurt,_ that seemed to overcome the fizzing warmth of his magic. Reality seemed to disconnect and only slammed back into place for a split second as Morgana closed the second cuff around his other wrist and the same feeling travelled through the other side of him until it consumed him. His entire body felt ice cold, from the inside out. It felt frozen and heavy and the familiar warm buzzing was gone. A keening noise stuck in his throat and somewhere he could hear someone else – saying something, laughing, smiling – something he couldn’t place. The world was suddenly too small, too heavy and he was so _cold._

That noise tore through him again, wordless, but a part of him. The world felt dim and tiny, nothing beyond the heavy weight of his limbs.

He could hear muffled sounds beyond it but they were unimportant and incomprehensible. He was entirely lost in himself, in the cold, sharp disorientation. 

Time smeared across his consciousness like a blur. He didn’t know how long it had been since the cuffs had closed but it was too long, regardless. His limbs were useless and his whole body burned, like ice freezing everything from the outside in.

“It’ll clear, Merlin, I promise.”

*

“Perce? Have you found anything?” Arthur asked. Percy’s look of concentration pinched for a moment before the large man sighed and turned to face Arthur.  
“I’ve looked everywhere I can, but I’m with Gwaine. There’s no mention of Kil Gareth in Merlin’s system. Worse still, there’s nothing on him in the main Knights database. There may be something in the depths of the High Security stuff, but Merlin’s got back doors in security layers that shouldn’t be possible looking at the coding of them. I’m no expert – but if Kil Gareth’s in the system he did something that they’re doing everything they’ve got to protect their info. Something even Merlin couldn’t hack.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. Damn.

“I feared as much.”

“And what the bloody hell does that mean, Princess?” Gwaine growled, spinning in his chair to look at Arthur, his eyebrows pinched and his mouth curved in a frown. Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Rumour has it that after the magical reforms went through, my father had everything we had on anything magical removed from easy access. You need Directors clearance to get anywhere near the vault. It’s not digital – it’s all hard copy. If there’s anything left on Gareth, it’s there.”

“And where’s this vault then?”

“Basement level of the Knights compound.”

“And what, you’re going to walk in and try and get it, then? Is that the plan?”

“It is now,” Arthur said, watching the sarcasm drop from Gwaine’s face.

“Arthur – “ Percy brokered but Arthur couldn’t listen. He pushed away from the two seats and the men sitting in them.

“You can’t be serious, Dubois!” Gwaine crowed, the edge of seriousness back in his voice.

“You have any idea how much effort Merlin’s put in to make sure that bloody place has no idea where you are and you’re just going to walk in and get a file without being seen?”

“Unless you think you can do it, Gwaine? It’s the only thing I can think of. Because like I said, there’s no digital copy of that file. If there was Merlin would have it on his bloody system and he’d have found it years ago. The fact is, we need to get it. We need that file. I won’t sit back and do nothing when there’s something i can do.”

“Arthur, Gwaine’s right. You’re going to walk into the Knight’s Compound. That’s paramount to suicide. You’re Blacklisted,” Percy said simply, in that way he had of stating the obvious that brokered no anger against him and his easy compassion.

“And you don’t think I know that? What else do you want me to do? Let them have him? Give up?”

“That’s not what we’re saying.”

‘Then what are you saying? As far as I’m concerned, I’m the only one who can do this. I know the layout. I know what to do, how to stay unnoticed. I know the blind spots. I know the security. I know the _risk_. Now, are you going to help me or are you going to just sit there and argue?”

Arthur folded his arms and he watched as the two of them glanced at each other and crumbled under the pressure of his stubborn resolution. He’d never had to really face them down before. They had always been a team, and strangely, it had always been Merlin the three of them had looked to for guidance. Merlin had been their rallying point. This time he still was, in a way. Instead, he was the reason for their rallying. He was still integral; more so than ever, if anything.

“What do you need, Arthur?” Percy asked. Gwaine was gripping his chair, leaning back into it and scowling. He very clearly wasn’t happy with the outcome, which Arthur knew had nothing to do with Arthur’s fate, so much as Merlin’s reaction if it all went downhill and he wound up caught. It would be Merlin that Gwaine would have to deal with, and despite his determination to go through with it with or without their help, Arthur wasn’t liking the idea of telling Merlin that he had essentially gone into the belly of the beast. Gwaine had been right – Merlin had spent the better part of the last two and a half years trying to keep Arthur safe after they made a run for it, and now, Arthur was about to go walking into headquarters like nothing had happened. It was paramount to suicide – but he had to do it.

“I need schematics of the building – I know Merlin had them, he taunted me more than once with the intel. I need a list of everyone with high clearance on site, and I need to know the exact security system they have running. It’s been two and a half years – they upgrade more often than Merlin does socks.”

“On it,” Percy said, spinning back to the screens and starting to type. Gwaine, on the other hand, stared at him a moment longer, his gaze fixed and angry. Arthur waited him out, keeping his gaze steady and a beat later he turned back to the laptop and murmured to Percy quiet enough that Arthur couldn’t make out the words.

Arthur watched them for a moment, feeling the wall between them and himself start to grow once again. It had been near on impenetrable those first few weeks after Merlin dragged him halfway across the country to hide him from the Knights. They’d run to Gwaine’s because Gwaine had never been able to turn Merlin away and never would. But while Gwaine had put up with Merlin’s infatuation with Arthur in the field, bringing home the man had been one step too far. Arthur had spent the first week locked in a room upstairs, a room far different to the one they slept in here, in a different house a couple of hundred miles further north. It had been impossible to escape, even for someone of Arthur’s calibre, schooled by the best in the country, raised on martial arts instead of football, science textbooks instead of fairytales, language tapes instead of pop music. Part of it had been his own doing, the scouts had been his idea, the cadets – but as a whole he had been aware from a young age just what his father did for the country and he had been desperate to emulate the man. He had tried his hardest in every facet of his behaviour to meet those standards his father had never actually set but Arthur had been incapable of meeting, desperate to join the Knights, the best of the best. It had been the greatest day of his life when he had qualified, when he had been registered. His first grading had set him two teams higher than his father had been, but Arthur had never quite been sure it was enough. 

The work, when he got to it, had been brilliant. It had sustained him in a way that he hadn’t felt before. He felt important, and while he hadn’t followed his father’s aim for him, down the Special Ops route – dealing with magic users, terrorists and high danger risks, there had been something about the white collar crime, the thieves and con artists that had excited him, that had tweaked his brain. People who didn’t hurt people for the sake of hurting them, who didn’t like hurting people – who didn’t kill, that had been something he couldn’t turn away from. There had been some hope to them, the cases, as strange as it sounded. It had put him in the middle of paperwork piles full of petty people trying to get ahead, deceiving people that trusted them, that they hated, that had something they wanted. 

It wasn’t a high profile job and he’d copped flack for it. For those who knew who his father was, Uther Constance, the Director of MDD, Magical Defence Division. It was a division that very little knew specifics about, but was commonly known. They were the Unspeakables, the name stolen from those popular Potter books and the irony of it for those who didn’t know what the division did, did not pass Arthur by. His father’s hatred of Magic Users was strange and all consuming and Arthur hadn’t quite understood it. It hadn’t mattered much until he’d met Merlin, really met him, face to face. Merlin had been in the middle of a job, a job Arthur had thought was just smuggling of 17th Century sculpture. 

What it had turned out to be, was a small family Merlin was helping smuggle across the country because their youngest son, a boy not four years old, had started levitating things while he laughed. He couldn’t control it and word had reached the Witchfinder that there was something strange about little Bran. Arthur had run headfirst into exactly what happened to families who started showing signs of abnormal behaviour and the risks those families took in order to escape that fate. The danger that people put themselves in to help them. People, surprisingly, like Merlin, the young smiling criminal Arthur had been chasing for years up and down the country and even over into England and Wales. Arthur had chased Emrys to that warehouse, but instead he’d found Merlin for the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. Arthur would meet him long enough face to face the next time to exchange half a conversation. Twice more and Merlin would save his life and drive himself so far under Arthur’s skin he wasn’t sure that he would ever get Merlin out.

And considering the situation he was in now, he knew he never wanted to lose that feeling. 

Leaving the two of them typing like they were going to put their fingers through the keyboards, Arthur took up the stairs, past the first floor and up into the second, where there were four bedrooms and a bathroom. 

Heading down the hall to the last one his fingers itched as he reached for the handle. Pushing the feeling down he opened the door and went inside. It was exactly the same as it had been when they were last here – god, four weeks ago now? Five? He wasn’t sure, but the déjà vu was enough, anyway. Gwaine had a girl who came through once a week to put things in order, so the room wasn’t anywhere near the condition it had been in when they’d left, but he could still vaguely feel the good cotton sheets under his fingers, the slick feel of Merlin’s hair and his snickering laugh, the burn of his kisses and the heat of his skin. There was a dent on the wall they’d put there from the bed head hitting the wall and the window didn’t quite close after they’d broken the hinge months ago.

But he wasn’t there for nostalgia, so he forced himself to cross the distance to the closet and open it. It was full of clothes, bursting with different outfits that were either the work clothes of a prolific stripper or someone who couldn’t hold down a job. They were the only two semi-legal options Arthur had ever been able to come up with when he’d first opened the door. There were guard uniforms, delivery coats and shirts, pressed trousers and black socks, doctors coats, suits and shirts and everything in between. Arthur had no idea how it all fit, but as he pulled out a folded white shirt out of a stack of them on the top shelf, he eyed the tag and low and behold it fit his own measurements. Merlin, somehow, had a plan for everything. 

Yet, somehow, they’d never quite planned for something like this.  
Pulling out a set of pressed trousers Arthur started to change. He needed to look like he belonged and while the quality of the shirt was nothing on what he used to wear when he was a Knight, it wouldn’t really matter. All he had to do was look like he belonged, like he was meant to be walking those halls and not running away from them.

He was going to need some sort of distraction to get through the main gate, he could swipe an ID badge for the actual screening, but to make sure the guy at the front wasn’t looking at the monitor itself, he was going to need something to keep him occupied for a moment and not pay any more attention other than whether or not the machine dinged or beeped at him.

“I’ve been waiting for the day sleeping with you caught up with him, Dubois.”   
Arthur startled, genuinely surprised to hear Gwaine’s voice. He hadn’t heard him on the stairs or in the hall at all. Covering himself, he smoothed the fresh shirt over his shoulders and looked up at the man, who was lounging in the doorway scowling at him.

“I’ve been waiting for the day that it came back to bite him, and I’m just as bloody pissed at you as I thought I would be, and I have to say, I don’t quite trust you, that you’re up for just _walking into that nest of vipers._ It smells fishy to me.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Well it does. I’ve spent the last two and a half years watching you. I’ve spent the last year starting to think maybe, just maybe, I might have got it wrong. Maybe Merls is right about you. But this? This ain’t right.”

“I’ll get him back, Gwaine.”

“I damn well hope you do, cause I’m giving you fair warning. You might have spent the last two and a half years undercover or some shit. This might be your play, I don’t know. All I know is that you did something that made Merls trust you and I trust Merlin. But know this, you might be the son of Uther Constance. You might be the best Albion’s ever bloody trained and god damn Merlin thinks so, but I’m telling you, if Merlin don’t come out of this. Or if it ends up that you’ve been playing him like a fiddle, I’m gonna hunt you down, Dubois, and nothings gonna protect you. You got me?”

“I understand,” he replied and watched the sharp anger recede, just a little, out of Gwaine’s eyes.

“Good,” the man finished and disappeared back down the hall.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and fixed his collar.

*

Waking up disorientated was not a familiar thing for Merlin, but the déjà vu he experienced as he came back to himself again left him reeling and unsettled. His shoulders ached and his head pounded and he was cold, like a permeable chill straight though his bones, and as he took stock of himself it took time to realise where he was and longer still to remember why. His fingers were stiff and sore, like they’d been out in the wind and frozen; moving left his brain sluggish and foggy and as he took in his surroundings and what bound him to the chair, the cold settled deep in his stomach.

“I must say, Merlin, that your reaction to the cuffs was most adverse and strangely interesting,” a foreign voice brokered the silence of the room, and for the first time Merlin’s awareness shifted beyond himself. His unease heightened; he wasn’t used to being unaware and the fact that there had been someone there without his knowledge unsettled him 

“Who are you?” the words stuck on his tongue and Merlin groaned, unsure whether or not the woman could have understood what he had intended. Her laughter told him nothing. Her shoes on the concrete echoed in the small space as she moved into his line of sight. She was tall and willowy, blonde and beautiful. Her eyes were blue and heavily outlined. She held herself with the air of a woman who knew exactly what she was capable of and had little need to be wary of others. 

A part of Merlin stretched outward, or attempted to, the natural part of him that was an extension of himself, that protected him, warned him that someone else was there before he could see them; the part of him that heightened his senses, warmed his bones, yielded to his lightest touch or whispered yearning was cold and unwilling and it was then that Merlin truly took stock of his situation. His gaze fell to his hands where cold iron wrapped around each of his wrists just beyond the ropes that bound him in place. 

“You’re still not quite back with it, are you?” the woman said, mocking like his confusion was mere wallowing.

Merlin fought to swallow the flailing panic that welled up in him, terrified and anxious and with nowhere to go.

“Where am I?”

“Somewhere safe for the likes of you and I,” the woman said and Merlin looked back up at her.

“Who are you?” he asked again and her lips curled.

“My name is Morgause,” she said, her voice making it sound like a title.

“Why am I here?”

“Surely you remember that part, Merlin. You took Arthur’s place.”

“I – I don’t – “ Merlin replied and faltered, because he didn’t. His memory was foggy and slow and the last thing he could remember was the sheer glee he’d felt as he’d fallen backwards onto the bed in his hotel in Rome and known he could come back home to Camelot, to Arthur – the job had been done.

“It’ll come back to you,” Morgause said, her tone retaining that smugness that set Merlin quietly on edge.

He knew she was magical, her arrogance assured him nothing less, but the loss of his own, the fact he couldn’t _feel_ her like he normally could left him unstable and quietly afraid. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“What do you want?” Merlin asked instead, keeping his gaze on her, trying to will himself back into some sort of control.

Morgause laughed again, this deep tinker that made Merlin think absently of rich, warm wine – wine laced with something. Morgause would never not be dangerous.

“We’ll come to that, Merlin, I assure you. But for now, we’re waiting on your beloved Arthur. He’s gone to fetch us something, something we’ve been after for a long time,” she said and in that moment her feral smile reminded him of someone else, someone with darker hair and that same infallible surety. 

“Where is Morgana?” he asked and this time her laughter had a ring of victory to it.

“I knew you would remember sooner or later,” she said, her eyes flashing and Merlin shifted in his seat. His arms were bound tight, there was little room to shift, but he tried anyway. His mind reeled with the sudden onslaught of his own memory. As his lips had formed her name, his brain unlocked the first door and he remembered the sharp fear that he’d felt as Morgana had locked the cuffs around his wrists, the feeling of sharp icy cold as his magic had fled somewhere deep inside him he couldn’t even feel. 

“Morgana has other things to attend to, Merlin. She has other places to be.”

“What about Arthur? What are you doing to him?”

“Nothing, we have no part in what Arthur does for the next couple of hours, Merlin. He simply has to get something for us. How he goes about that, is entirely up to him.”

“What is it?”

“Come now, that’s not something you need worry yourself about, Merlin. What I want to know is you. I want to know all about _you.”_

“I can’t say there’s much I want to tell.”

“Oh but there will be, Merlin, there will be. I have lots of questions and you’re going to answer all of them.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he replied and he watched the excited flash in her eyes. It wasn’t the burning gold of magic, but rather the brightness of confirmation, of excitement and joy – yet all it did was serve to make Merlin’s blood run cold. Colder than it already was. He had upset their plan by being at PSC instead of Arthur, but there was something about the whole operation that bespoke of further planning. That this went beyond Arthur and beyond him and the both of them were casualties of a war that had been burning for years, but he guessed was about to get nuclear. This whole thing had a dangerous edge to it, something feral about it that was unsettling and made his body tense.

“I don’t mind if I have to make you, Merlin. You’re going to serve one purpose at the end of this, and I don’t think they’ll mind whether you can stand up or not.”

“You can try but I wont give you what you want.”

“Ah, but you don’t even know what I want yet, Merlin. How very rude of you,” her voice held a mocking ring to it, similar to her sisters in a way that their appearance lacked. She leant down over him, crowding his personal space with her golden hair and wide eyes.

“It’s really very simple, Merlin, I want to know about your little trick, your little ability. I want to know why no one can sense your magic. That’s not so difficult is it?”

Merlin blanched, confused by her request.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, on principle. Morgause smiled, like she had hoped that would be his answer.

She reached down and wrapped her hands around his wrists, over the cuffs. Her touch was hot against his skin and he winced. Then she dug her nails in and he flinched again, wincing at the uncomfortable pain.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to ask you again, Merlin, I’ll play nice for a little while, after that, I wont be so giving.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh but you do. You might not be able to reach your magic, Merlin, but it’s there, and I should be able to feel it. I can always feel it; everyone can always feel our kind. It’s in our blood. A part of us, a part of our gift. Bar you. No one can sense you, no one ever has. I want to know why, and you’re going to tell me.”

Her eyes flashed then and it was like Merlin’s entire body had been dunked into ice water – his whole body seized under the jarring flash of pain; sharp pins and needles all over his body there and gone in an instant but left him panting and choking on the air. Morgause’s lips curled.

“I want to know how you hide, Merlin, and you _will_ tell me.”

Merlin gasped and tried to swallow more air, tried to get a hold on himself. His skin prickled with goose bumps and his lungs burned. But it didn’t impart on the thought swirling around in his head – the question Morgause wanted an answer for, the question _Merlin_ wanted an answer for, had always quietly wondered and been left wanting. 

“I can’t,” he croaked, looking up at her as she loomed over him, beautiful and menacing.

“Oh Merlin,” she said, with a false smile. “I don’t believe you.”

Her eyes flashed again and an invisible hand clenched around Merlin’s throat.

“You’re going to have to try harder to please me,” she whispered and Merlin’s lungs began to burn again.

Then, as suddenly as the pressure was there, it was gone again and as Merlin gasped for air, Morgause looked down at him, sneering like she would at a rodent.

“Now, try harder,” she said. “How does it work?”

Merlin blinked up at her through his lashes, heaving in dry breathes.

“I don’t know,” he rasped, and settled himself in for whatever she could do to him, clutching desperately to a fervent hope that somewhere, Arthur was looking for him. His Arthur.

*

It was odd, Arthur thought, joining the melee of people heading into the Compound once again. It was familiar and oddly jarring, like he could just slip straight back into the life he’d walked out of without any qualms. No one noticed he was out of place and no one would, he knew the walk, the swagger you only managed if you’d earned your place, and two and a half years ago, Arthur had. He’d worked and bled into the very being of a Knight. He had been one of them.

Then there had been Merlin and the third part of his life had started. He couldn’t help but wonder if this would spark something else, another chapter in his life. He didn’t want it to, yet he knew it was inevitable. Something of this capacity wasn’t something they were going to be able to forget. Arthur, for one thing was going to have to fight himself not to panic when Merlin was out of his sight after this. He was going to be the poster boy for a fucking nutcase possessive boyfriend. But after getting kidnapped and your whole world yanked out from under you trying to get it all back, he sort of figured it would be his due. Merlin would just have to deal with it. 

Hell, Gwaine would probably have more issues with it than Merlin would.   
At that moment he didn’t know what he wouldn’t give just to find out for sure.  
As it was, he was dressed in a bland matching suit and dark framed glasses, holding a brief case and a coffee as he followed the line into the Compound.  
It was routine, this whole process, driven by the belief that there was no one there that shouldn’t be. It was the Knight’s Compound, the headquarters for the entire country; thirty stories high and at least half a dozen below the surface. There were enough security checkpoints to keep anyone waylaid for a good twenty minutes more than it should take to get up thirty flights, but it was relatively simple to bypass if you knew the tricks. Certain personnel had clearance for certain levels and corridors. The trick was knowing the grades and how to pick them on the identification cards everyone was supposed to wear at all times. Arthur was wearing one of his own, his old card, to be precise, with the altered photograph of him with glasses and a pointier chin and nose. Enough to fool the facial recognition scanners if his own card did go through; hopefully it wouldn’t come to that – if it all went to plan, then the ID card he was wearing would just be a prop for show. 

What he needed was a security pass that would get him through the gate. That part was almost easier done than said. Despite safety measures, no one took anywhere near enough care with the damn things. Clipped to the edge of their jackets or the loops on their trousers; it was only those with field experience and the talent to swipe someone else’s card who wore theirs around their neck like they were all supposed to. 

All Arthur needed to do was a quick farmers pass and he’d have one. The real trick was getting one he could use. What he really needed was a card off someone who was leaving the compound. He could easily swipe one off someone in the bustle of the line, but then the last thing he needed was for that same person to cause a fuss about getting in without their ID only to find that said ID had already been used. That was a failsafe way of getting the entire Compound put into lock down. Realistically, the hardest part about the whole job was going to be getting out. That’s what Merlin had always said, anyway – anyone could steal something, it took a professional to get away with it.

This was going to be Arthur’s test. 

And what a test it was going to be. He was going to have to set off alarms. He wasn’t foolish enough to think for a moment that his father wouldn’t have fail safe protection on the vaults. It had been Uther who had truly started hating magic users and everything that they stood for, and after growing up under the man, Arthur knew the lengths Uther would go to in order to keep his word as law.

Arthur watched as the second line of people exiting the building as he kept a slow pace towards the entrance. It was all about timing. The two lines converged only at the scanners; it would have to be then when he’d have his chance.   
Someone somewhere must have been watching over him, because seven people shy of the scanners, Arthur watched as his luck changed and a blond young man twisted and fumbled his way through the barrier, nearly losing his arm full of folders as he fought with his bag. A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips at the sight, the man reminded him so strongly of Merlin, the idiot tripping over himself, like getting through a door was an impossible thing. When Merlin wasn’t thinking every step through, it was like half his brain was switched off, and the fool became so endearing, blinking blearily and stumbling around the house, it was impossible not to fall in love with him time and time again.

Arthur almost felt sorry for the man as he watched as he tripped over himself on the other side of the barrier and his folders went sprawling. Everyone in the line watched it happen, many of them, like Arthur, knowing it was going to happen. But Arthur made his move quickly, bending down to help gather everything together and handed them all over to the blushing kid with an easy smile.  
After this, if things went south, there was a good chance this kid would lose his job. Or his clearance at least, Arthur thought wearily. Security breaches were never taken lightly. All Arthur could do was push the thought aside and focus on his goal. Smiling softly as he slipped back into the line two stops before his former space, he fingered the ID card idly.

It didn’t take much longer for the line to carry him forward. This was routine for everyone in this line. It was no different to any other day for them as it was for Arthur. 

As the woman in front of him held her card up to the scanner and it beeped, Arthur watched as the attendant’s gaze slid lazily from the woman’s face down to the screen and up again. It wasn’t anything against their vigilance; it was just simple human behaviour he was exploiting, really. If you do the same thing over and over again, then you get bored and only do it half heartedly. 

As the woman cleared the scanner Arthur took his step forward and fumbled the empty coffee cup he was clutching. It slid easily out of his grasp and rolled forward, through the scanner. Arthur took his moment then to swear softly and the guy behind the desk didn’t even think about it, he leant down to pick up the coffee cup and Arthur took his chance, holding the pass up and he watched as the light went from red to green and it beeped happily. The attendant didn’t even bother to look at the screen as Arthur shuffled though.

“Thanks,” he smiled, taking the cup off the grey haired man and shyly looked away as behind him the next person swiped their ID, impatient to get through the screening and into work. Arthur took his chance and left, clutching the empty cup and his briefcase and hurrying down the corridor, the poor kid’s false ID still clenched in one hand.

From there it came down to blending in.

The Knight’s Compound stretched over a couple of acres of land even before it climbed into airspace and the weaving corridors were near on impossible to handle. It took years to be able to navigate the hallways with ease, so once you were through the security checkpoint, there really was little you could do to stand out, short of using Magic right in the middle of a crowded hallway or start shouting. You could be lost to all hell or know exactly where you were going and there would be a dozen people like minded in the general vicinity.

Arthur knew exactly where he was going. 

He had taken pride in generalising himself with the general layout of the entire building when he was first Graded. He hadn’t had access to the lower floors back then. He didn’t have the clearance. A lot had changed since then, including the fact he was in love with a hacker, a hacker with an eager sense of humour, a love of irony and little qualms about being petty or staying out of things that didn’t concern him. Merlin also believed in being prepared. 

It had been simple for Percival to find the schematics for the Compound in Merlin’s system. Finding his father’s entire biometrics fingerprint scans and retina scan had also been blindingly simple. Finding out about Merlin’s birthday, however, was still impossible to locate – a tid bit of information even Gwaine and Percival didn’t have access to.

Merlin was strange.

And Arthur missed him.

Arthur steeled himself as he followed the pack down the first corridor and then took his leave, branching off down the corridor for the East Wing. 

In the entire compound, there were twenty seven general service elevators. For the lower levels, there were another ten.

Of those ten, only two went to the sub vaults.

No hallway was completely empty, and Arthur made sure to keep his head down as often as possible, hunching his shoulders so that his bad posture reduced his general height by an inch or so. It all came down to it in the end. Arthur knew the training, after all, and he couldn’t risk running into anyone he once knew well enough to recognise. 

He was well aware of what happened to those who turned and were Blacklisted.  
The last one hadn’t even made it into custody. There had been an inquiry, but really, no one had been particularly fussed that a man who had sold their country’s secrets was returned to the Compound in a black plastic body bag.  
Merlin had known what leaving the Knights meant to Arthur, and unless it had been imperative to their job, he had never demanded Arthur tell him something that he couldn’t have found out himself. It didn’t matter that as far as Arthur was aware, there wasn’t anything in the Compound Merlin couldn’t access if he tried hard enough. But it was a pride thing. He had been a serviceman to his country. A Knight of Albion, and just because he couldn’t serve, didn’t mean his principals had corroded and died. He still held them strongly and Merlin respected that.  
No one in this building knew that. As far as they were aware, he had sold them all out completely, and now, now he was breaking in, in order to take more of those secrets for himself and his fugitive partner.

He got into the elevator with three others, four women in power suits already leaning against the railings talking amongst themselves. Their chatter quietened when their space was intruded upon. The elevator was going up and Arthur ignored any of the buttons in favour of keeping his head down and away from the security camera. There was little he could do overall, but it was better safe than sorry. On the seventh floor the doors opened and the women left, Arthur watching quietly as four pairs of skinny ankles in ridiculous shoes walked past and the doors closed to the sound of one of his fellow first floor-er’s whistling low and appreciative.

Arthur glanced over at him and the man, late twenties, brown haired and despairingly average blushed under the scrutiny staring at him from all angles. He remained quiet and left on the next floor. That left Arthur and two others, a pair of men in their thirties with hollow cheeks and grim lines to their lips.   
Violent Crime, Arthur thought, dismally. He remembered his brief stint on the tenth floor a lot more than he’d ever hoped to. It wasn’t a pleasant place, Violent Crime. It didn’t attract many, as the name suggested, which Arthur figured was for the best. You needed a strong stomach to be able to handle what some people did to each other. White Collar Crime had let Arthur keep the lining on his stomach and a sense of human decency. It wouldn’t have lasted if he’d stayed. Homicide was at least usually family related (which in a way, was almost worse), Violent Crime was violence for violence sake. The sheer desecration of human decency.

It left a mark on the men in its division, a mark that didn’t go away.

The elevator was empty after that and Arthur didn’t waste any more time. The longer he was in the compound, the more he risked getting caught.

Crossing the elevator he pressed the last button on the display, a blank silver circle that glowed around the edge for a moment before highlighting the small screen at eyelevel. Arthur leant forward and refused to blink as his retina was scanned. It only took a moment and then, with a jerk, the elevator started moving again, going down, down, down before coming to a stop with a jerk. The doors opened and taking up his briefcase, Arthur walked out into the corridor. On either side of the elevator, two men in slick black suits stood motionless either side.

Paying them no mind, Arthur started up the corridor, mentally counting off the doors on the white corridor, matching them to the little squares on the map he’d memorised back at Gwaine’s. 

Seven doors along he stopped and took a breath in. The keypad in front of him stared back at him imperiously and Arthur stared back. 

He needed his father’s password to clear the first set of protocols and then the retina scan once again. A double edged knife, really. All his hopes lay on guessing whether or not his father’s sentimentality had got the better of him when he’d locked up the vault.

Arthur breathed out slowly and then entered the eight digit code.

04071962 – for a moment he held his breath, waiting for everything to fall apart and then the retina scanner opened up.

Thank fuck. Leaning forward he forced himself not to blink and then the light on the screen flashed green and with a hiss of released pressure and a loud _thunk,_ the door unlocked. Arthur let go of his held breath and smiled, stepping over to the wheel and turning it. It shifted 60 degrees and the door gave under his pull, opening.

Arthur slipped inside and pulled the door almost shut behind him, just enough so that at first glance from the hallway it could almost be mistaken for being shut. 

The room was large and continued the compounds love for sleek stainless steel walls and furnishings, veering into slick black varnished tabletops just for show. The room was lined in long cabinets and a single long desk in the middle. It was a storage room and little else. Arthur didn’t wait. There was little chance he wasn’t being filmed – it was his father’s direction that the rooms contents be down here, and Uther Constance was not a man who was stingy on protocol. The only reason the damn documents were saved from a fire was the fact that he probably had some advantage over some of the people listed in here that he might need.

Including, Arthur suspected, on Kil Gareth. 

Arthur had grown up into espionage, a man who was important to one group, was, almost by default, important to everyone else as well. The others simply didn’t quite know what importance that was just yet. The fact that whoever had Merlin was willing to kidnap Arthur, just for the information he might have had on a man that he had actually never heard of, set off alarm bells he was waiting to identify. Kil Gareth was important for some reason and that reason had just become paramount to Merlin’s safety and therefore more important to Arthur than anything else he possessed.

Including his own freedom, he couldn’t help but think. Because as well as it had gone – it was going to take a miracle to get him out of the compound. He knew that and both Gwaine and Percival knew that, even if they weren’t willing to speak up and say it.

Crossing the room Arthur took in the sleek filing cabinets. They were that same impossible bleak grey that the cabinets upstairs had always been. They were flush against the wall, floor to ceiling and not one of them had any sort of identifiable marker.

Damn.

This smelt of Geoffrey Monmouth. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Arthur forced his mind blank and let himself relax.

 _Don’t rush this, you prat,_ his brain whispered to him in Merlin’s voice and unconsciously, Arthur’s lips twitched into a smile. He opened them and took a step back, looking at the wall of files. If this was Geoffrey Monmouth’s doing, then it was going to be simple – the man was a librarian at heart – it was always going to be in alphabetical order. But it was going to be in sections. Everything magical had been moved down here – the reports from Sorcerers from their field ops. Psych reports and his father’s findings, not doubt. As well as the research from MRD. But what went first? 

For one, it would have to be the personal files of all sorcerers. Kil Gareth would have something in here. Arthur turned to the first row – each cabinet had three drawers, which if Monmouth was ordering the place, would be the length of a bloody bookshelf. Three across two down should be far enough for the G’s, surely. Possibly too far. But then again, Arthur had known about ten people with last names beginning with A in his year at Camelot Grammar.

The drawer was filled with K’s and J’s and L’s and Arthur slammed it shut and went to the next one back and started flicking through the lot. Kil Gareth’s was easy to find, almost too easy. Opening the manila folder Arthur took note of the older standing man, with his long face and his knowing eyes and a wide, sloping mouth before closing the drawer. The folder wasn’t big enough in his hands at all to be everything that they were after. Flicking back another page Arthur scanned down, his eyes flicking through the lines of text before he found it – MRD – Sector 6, Operation 674: Ivan Bliminse. That was the file he needed. 

Stepping back Arthur stared at the wall once again. Second row, it wouldn’t hurt to try the second row. His father’s reports were in the second sector, the third as well. The fourth set of cabinets set him in Sector 4, the fifth gave him what he was looking for. Sector 6. He was dimly aware of how much time it had taken him, but he wasn’t willing to leave without getting everything he could. Not if it meant some backwards ruling that got Merlin killed.

He could practically hear Percy and Gwaine buzzing back at Gwaine’s as he searched through folders after folders and was so busy mentally berating the two he almost missed it. Luckily, Operation Ivan Bliminse was a rather large folder. Whatever the man had been doing, or what he meant to Kil Gareth and the Knights, there was a lot on him. 

Which is what distracted Arthur enough he missed the sound of the door opening behind him and the entrance of someone he never thought he’d see again.

“I need you to put the files down and raise your arms above your head.”  
Arthur froze, the familiar voice of an old friend shaking his resolution. Out of everyone that could have been patrolling the halls, on base and called down to a security breach in the lower levels, Leon Cameliard was not high on Arthur’s list. A part of him had been desperate to believe that nothing had changed for them after he’d left – that they would have replaced him, promoted Leon to their team leader and gone on as normal. He knew Merlin had investigated them, had kept a sharp eye. He’d told Arthur that his old team had been looking for him. That they had kept following Merlin’s trail, but if that had been true, then they should have been abroad – they should have been upstairs tracking Merlin’s trail from the last fortnight. Merlin kept disappearing for that reason, to keep them occupied, keep them away from Camelot and Arthur. Yet here he was, Arthur had come to the Knights and his team was on response.

“I said,” Leon ordered again and Arthur jolted.

“Put the files down and put your hands above your head. Turn around slowly.”  
Arthur closed his eyes and listened to his old friend for a moment, his grasp clenching on the files unconsciously.

Behind him he could hear Leon moving closer towards him. He could almost picture it: his arms out, both hands bracing his loaded Winchester# 22, aimed straight and true and able to react without hesitation.

But what Arthur had over his old friend was a moment of surprise. If he turned around, the shock of seeing Arthur would give him the moment of hesitation he needed.

“Turn around!” Leon barked, close enough to act. 

Arthur set the file on the top of the open cabinet and raised his arms above his head, he heard Leon let out a breath as he took another step forward and Arthur turned.

It was worse than he expected. It took a beat, indistinguishable in seconds, for Leon’s eyes to widen and his clenched expression to lift and the line of his mouth to slacken.

Arthur took his chance, his arm came down and held Leon’s wrist, knocking his second hand away. His own arm came down then, twisting Leon’s arm back and with a step backwards Leon’s balance shifted and the gun loosened in his grasp. With another blow it dropped from his grip, Arthur’s fingers clenched tight on his pressure point, Leon’s fingers slack.

Leon let out a sharp gasp and Arthur twisted his arm further back and rocking back on the balls of his feet he garnered his own balance and with one leg swept Leon’s feet out from under him. He made another gasping shout as he hit the ground. Arthur moved as quickly as he could, crossing the gap back to the cabinet and grabbing Gareth’s files. 

Turning back, he was three paces short of the door before Leon grabbed him. The grasp on his shoulder was strong and forced him to turn into Leon’s fist. The blow was short and sharp and Arthur’s concentration wavered for a moment, giving Leon time enough to attempt a second blow. This time Arthur blocked it, but by then it was too late, they were back into the momentum of their old sparring, familiar in the weight and movement of each other. 

Each blow Leon made against him Arthur could block, could read in his body language and he was sure Leon felt the same. In the last two and a half years he’d made sure to keep up his regimen. He hadn’t been chasing criminals, but had been one himself and while Merlin and Gwaine and Percival had continued their careers as crooks, Arthur had held back. He’d helped when Merlin had needed him, but realistically the only trying time he’d really worked his body was when they were helping smuggle families into the Underground. Merlin had made sure he had some noble cause to keep going with, and it had, if anything, been more rewarding than the Knights had been. But the beauty of it, was that they’d been cautious and safe and it had never come to blows. The only blows he’d given in the last two and a half years were in training against Gwaine, and Gwaine wasn’t against cheating.

His right blow, feint and a sweeping kick, knocking Leon’s feet out from under him was one of Gwaine’s favourites and he had a way of pulling it that Arthur never saw coming, even when he was wary against Gwaine’s tactics. Using it himself he could understand the other man’s glee at using it, the way Leon’s expression slipped into that of shock. A look that said he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened in the space of time it took for his feet to lose their place and his back to hit the ground. Arthur used that moment to reach for the files again, for whatever he could reach and make a run for it. But his moment of distraction gave Leon enough time to use a dirty move of his own and tackle him. His arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist and his weight carried them both to the ground, knocking the air straight out of Arthur. He grappled blindly for a hold on his old friend, to knock him aside and run, but Leon twisted and pushed down hard and, still gasping for breath, Arthur was pinned.

“Stop it, Arthur,” Leon panted, bearing all his weight down on Arthur’s chest. His lungs began to burn with the effort of drawing new air in and his fingers still itched to fight back, to throw Leon aside and damn well fight his way out. But he could suddenly hear the melee of sound he’d been immune to as they’d fought. In that moment he knew wasn’t getting out, his escape route was blocked; there would be no disappearing into the crowd.

“Let me go, Leon,” he asked, just once. It was as close to begging as he’d ever got and he couldn’t feel any difference in himself. He’d always assumed it would make a difference, that he would be inconsolable, begging and sobbing and using that wide manipulative eyes trick Merlin knew so well. But in reality it was so different, it was just a question, a question when he knew it was pointless.

“Please, Leon,” he said again and then there was no more time. The door burst open and Leon leant one last press down against him and then backed off as half a dozen lasers gathered in a dance on Arthur’s chest.

“Cuff him,” Leon ordered and then there were hands on him, rough hands, and Arthur lost track.

*

In the near on six years Gwaine had known Merlin, he had compiled a list of seven focussed things that he didn’t like about his friend. 

Arthur Dubois had always been at the top of his list. 

Before, it had been because the blond twit was a Knight; he might have been Merlin’s Knight, determined to put Merls behind bars, but then Merlin had gone and somehow, stupidly managed to get Dubois to fall in love with him and run away. After that, the Merlin Gwaine had known changed, morphed into some part of a dual being. 

Gwaine had been happy helping Merlin before. Emrys had been Merlin’s alias before he’d known Gwaine, and while it had morphed into including Gwaine and Percival under the banner of its genius marks, it still was, in a way, entirely Merlin – but Pendragon; _that_ was Merlin and Arthur combined. It was created for the pair of them and without one it didn’t exist. Gwaine couldn’t hold Merlin’s happiness against Arthur, because while Merlin’s list of jobs had more than halved year in year out, he was happier overall. He wasn’t reckless like he used to be, he was grounded and his principals were more founded. He used more of his energy helping the Underground than he did on jobs and while Gwaine wasn’t against helping the Underground, well, he was still in his prime and there wasn’t much point wasting that while it was still good. He was already sitting pretty, but he wasn’t that old yet, and he’d really rather like to retire proper like when the time came. Spend the rest of his life on some remote island he owned covered in pubs and race tracks. He needed open road and speed to get through the last years of his life, he reckoned and using all his time helping these wide eyed kids who made him uncomfortable move from city to city with these depressing backpacks full of their worldly possessions didn’t do well against his sense of self entitlement. 

But Merlin was into all that stuff, he had a good heart and years of experience to drive him headfirst behind bloody Arthur Dubois’ need to do something worthwhile. The arrogant entitled prat couldn’t just accept the bed he’d made for himself, no, he’d moped and done all sorts of things that made Merlin all anxious and unsettled and that had almost wound up in a botched job the blond pretty boy didn’t know about. 

Gwaine had figured that would be the pinpoint of the grudge he could hold against Arthur. He never figured Arthur would get Merlin kidnapped. 

That was too far and while Dubois had run off, determined to do everything that he could to get Merlin back, the fact that this had happened at all was almost too much for Gwaine. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was all too much; Merlin getting back early, Dubois so determined to go walking right back into the Knight’s compound... Something didn’t feel right and he wasn’t just going to sit back and let it happen. He was going to give Arthur the benefit of the doubt getting the file. He, on the other hand, was going to try a different route. 

“He’s doing the best he can,” Percy said quietly as they both listened to the aftermath of Arthur’s quick exit and the slamming of the door.

“He damn well better be,” Gwaine scowled, spinning back to the laptop he was in front of. The screen was still running the software Merlin had written for him and installed, the photograph of their first Tough guy from the security footage of PSC staring out at Gwaine, the other side of the screen still scrolling through Merlin’s database. 

That had always been one thing about Merlin, his back catalogue. Everywhere they went Merlin had friends, people who were willing to put him up, a wanted fugitive, for the night for just a smile and ‘never you mind.’ They’d been to Prague, Amsterdam, Barcelona, London, Paris, Melbourne, New York; all around the world Merlin had connections and the only insult to their privacy that Merlin broke was his database. Computers had become Merlin’s thing as a kid, and his collection of information was immense and profitable. The internet had its advantages, but Merlin’s database had the sort of advantage the Knight’s database must have. Merlin’s wasn’t quite so large, but it was current. Everyone who had the chance of doing something on their side of the fence was in here. If Merlin had even stumbled across someone who knew this bloke, then Merlin’s program would know. It was just a matter of finding who they bloody well were.   
It was taking it’s time.

And there was nothing he could do to make it go any faster than it already was. Arthur had been gone for an hour and a half already and it was still scrolling through the possible matches, finding nothing.

Then, the counter stopped and with a small _ping_ , a second screen popped up.

“Dammit,” Gwaine snarled, slamming his fist down on the table and spinning his chair away. 

“What?” Percy asked turning away from his computer to lean over and take a look. Gwaine ignored him for a moment and closed his eyes. They had nothing. Merlin’s database had never seen this guy. The bloke had Merlin, he had an unconscious Merlin, Arthur fucking Dubois had gone off to the Compound to no doubt get himself caught and Gwaine and Percy had nothing. No idea who the bloody guy was.

“We’ve got nothing, Perce. Bloody Dubois has fucked off and Merlin’s database gives us nothing. They have Merlin and we don’t even know who they are.”

Percy’s expression was pinched, his brows furrowed and his mouth in a tight frown.

“IDing them is our best bet, Gwaine.”

“Then how, Perce? If Merlin’s system has never seen them before what makes you think that someone else has?”

“Common sense, Gwaine. Someone somewhere has to know who they are. There’s someone else running this show. There has to be, and if there is, then that means there is something to find. We don’t stop until we find it.”

Gwaine was breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest like he’d run a mile.

“Right,” he said, offhandedly, for lack of anything else.

Percy shot him a dark look.

“Who do we know that might know who they are?”

“Tristan and Isolde are out of town. They’d be the best bet.”

“We could call them?”

“It’d be a long shot. They got spotted moving diamonds out of Escetia a couple of weeks ago. They’d have gone to ground.”

“Agravaine?”

“He’s dirty all round, he’d hand us over as soon as help us.”

“Gilli?”

Gwaine swore. Why hadn’t he thought of the little weasel?

“You know where he lives?” Percy asked and Gwaine looked at him, confused.

“Don’t you?”

“Never been,” Percy replied with a faint blush. 

“I’m on it,” Gwaine said with a grin, checking his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call when I know something,” he shouted back at Percy as he was halfway up the stairs.

 

*

Lance guided Arthur down into the seat with a hand on his shoulder. Arthur leant back and let the other man reach forward and take his handcuffed wrists and lock them into the ring in the middle of the table. 

Only then did he step back and his eyes flicker up to Arthur’s face.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” he said, with all the polite stature Arthur had always remembered when he thought of Lance. Dignitary, honest Lance. Arthur watched as he backed up to stand guard at the door. They wouldn’t leave him alone for a moment, it hadn’t been the policy then, and it certainly wouldn’t have changed. 

He should have felt more anxious about his own position as he looked around the interrogation room, but in reality, the only anxiety he felt still rolled back to Merlin – back to the nervous terror that someone still had Merlin hostage and now, now he was trapped and without the file. 

It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been caught, caught by his own team breaking into the Knight’s Headquarters – a fact that could quite possibly put him a few steps closer to a firing squad than the life-in-prison he was in for when he’d woken up yesterday.

So much had changed in two days. 

“So, is er, Gwen... is she doing well?” Arthur asked, mindful of Lance’s silence but unable to keep quiet, not when his mind was suddenly driven to once again contemplating what would happen to Merlin if he didn’t get out. 

Lance shifted his feet but stayed quiet. Arthur could hear him moving, could practically sense his unease.

Finally, just when he was sure Lance was going to keep on ignoring him, Lance finally spoke.

“She’s well. She may be better knowing you’re alive.”

“Tell her... tell her I’m sorry?”

“I doubt she will desire to hear it, Arthur. Two and a half years is a long time. You disappeared without a word. We thought you were dead.”

Dead. Right.

“I’m sorry.”

“Was it worth it?” Lance asked, an impudence to his voice that was unfamiliar. But the answer came to Arthur’s lips in an instant but he held it back, carefully studying the reflection of his friend’s expression in the mirror. He could see the heartache in the lines of Lance’s face and for the first time he really, truly regretted what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead and he watched as Lance nodded.

“You were the best of us, Arthur. It saddens me to see what you’ve become.”  
That hurt, strangely more than he thought it would. Not a sharp pain, but a bruising thump in his gut.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“And Ambrose was?”

“He is. Every day.”

The door opened then and Arthur let out a long breath and watched as Leon glared at Lance, one hand on the door and watched as Lance left, closing the door behind him. Leon’s expression was grave as he walked over to the second chair and sat down. The room seemed to echo with the sound of his boots on the concrete floor and the slapping sound the file made as Leon dropped it on the table between them.

Arthur looked at the closed blue, manila folder and then up at Leon. His eyes were dark and his mouth curved in a serious frown.

“You shouldn’t have been speaking with Agent DuLac.”

“Give him some slack, Leon.”

“You know I cannot. State your name for the record, if you will.”

Arthur sighed and leant back in his chair, his unfailing tutoring coming into play without any real desire. Arrogance, calm, control, maintain eye contact – don’t falter. It was all second nature to him, grown out of years worth of practice sitting on the other side of the table, right where Leon was sitting.

“Arthur Constance Dubois.”

“Let the record show that Agent Leon Cameliard begins the interrogation at 21:17. Now, Mr Dubois, you understand that at 19:32 earlier tonight you broke into the sealed vaults of the KAC, which breaks a dozen statutes of Albion law? Is there any particular reason you did that?”

“Because I needed something from in there.”

“Needed something?”

“A file.”

“Why?”

Arthur leant forward over the table, he watched as Leon followed his movement avidly, his expression still fixed and unyielding.

“Yesterday my partner returned from abroad, while I was elsewhere our place of business was overrun by a number of armed men who proceeded to take my partner hostage. His safety is assured in return for a file on one ‘Kil Garath’. “

“So you broke in and sought to take the file yourself?”

“I’m on a time limit,” he shrugged. _Three hours, forty two minutes._

“And why do these people need the file?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why do they think you would be able to get it?”

“Because they knew who I was. Merlin wasn’t meant to be home yet. They were after me. But he was there, so instead of asking me where they could find the information; they want me to get it instead.”

Leon’s expression gave no compassion and Arthur steeled himself. It hurt, strangely. He hadn’t expected it from any of them, but now, finding that base emotion lacking, it hurt. Merlin was innocent in this, and they didn’t even care. They couldn’t look past Merlin’s track record.

“Again, I ask: why do they think you would know about this man?” Leon asked, in that same calculated and controlled voice.

“Because they knew who I was. That I’m the son of the Director. They knew I’d been in the Knights for five years. _They knew who I was._ No one from my current life knows that. No one but Merlin.”

“And what assures you that this Merlin, one Merlin Ambrose, I assume, who is better known as ‘Emrys’, is not a part of it?”

Arthur growled, the sound rising up out of his throat before he could stop it and he saw the flicker of unease filter through Leon’s gaze and felt proud of it.

“I will ask you nicely, not to speak of him like that again. I hold no remorse for my actions if you disrespect him.”  
Leon bristled.

“You have such faith in him; he is, after all, a criminal - his actions may not always be clear.”

“I have all the faith I need,” Arthur said resolutely.

“And you are aware that Emrys is believed to be involved in a bank heist in Roma at the beginning of the week. If he was abroad, what makes you believe that he is not involved in other things that you know nothing about?”

“What makes you think, Leon, that I am not aware of my lover’s activities? He has my full trust, and he is in danger that has nothing to do with him.”

“By right of the law, Merlin Ambrose belongs in prison,” Leon scowled.

“By right of the law, so do I. I’m not here to say the law is wrong, I am merely mindful of its restrictions.”

“And those restrictions are?”

“Keeping me here,” Arthur snarled.

Leon opened his mouth to reply but before he could answer there was a sharp knock interrupting them. They both turned to the door as it cracked open and Arthur met the gaze of Elyan Smith. Elyan’s dark eyes hovered on Arthur for a beat, but his expression didn’t waver, his eyes simply slid from Arthur to Leon and settled.

“She’s here,” Elyan said and Arthur watched as Leon’s eyes moved back to him and his shoulders tensed.

He could feel his hackles rise. Did they think he’d forgotten everything? It had been two and a half years, yes, but for five before that he’d been one of them. They had trained with him and served with him. They’d taken orders from him and served him orders in return. 

“Where is she?” he asked, scowled, snarled. The pair of them jumped in surprise. The King’s Knights, Division Cappa of the Secret Service of Albion and yet Arthur was just as unnerved with himself at the sheer feeling welling up in him, knowing what was coming. Something that his fellow Knights couldn’t open up in him.

“Arthur – “ Leon started and Arthur growled.

“What? Where is she? She’s here, after all. She wouldn’t miss this, would she?”

“Calm down, Arthur,” a sharp voice announced and both Leon and Elyan looked away from the dark haired woman in the doorway.

“No, I bloody well wont calm down,” he shot back, and Mithian rolled her eyes.

“You’re acting like a child.”

“I’m acting like my partner isn’t _somewhere_ with a bunch of bloody sorcerers and you’re holding me here.”

“What I’m doing Arthur is holding someone who broke into our headquarters with the intent on stealing something from the vault. You’re on the opposite team, Arthur. I can’t condone this.”

“Pretend I got away.”

“You know it’s not that easy. You were seen, Arthur. Caught. The footage is already being viewed elsewhere. You’re not getting away.”

“You can’t hold me.”

“I think you’ll find we can. You’re classed as a Black Knight, Arthur. You’re a wanted man, and not for anything good. If anything, your team members have helped secure a national fugitive tonight, not an old friend.”

“Please, Mithian.”

“There’s nothing I can do, Arthur.”

“There’s plenty, you’re just choosing not to,” he scowled, feeling angry and petulant and desperate. That was a new feeling.

“No, Arthur, you’re wrong,” Mithian answered, with that same stoic grace she had in anything she did. She could calm a hoard of stampeding rhino’s with that collected air. 

“A lot has changed since you decided to run off with Merlin Ambrose. And a lot happened _because_ you decided to run off with him. You withheld information, Arthur. We know he’s magical. Hell, he’s _powerful_ and you kept that out of the files. That in itself is a criminal offence.”

“And would you have chased us harder if you’d known?”

“It would have transferred the case to the MDD, yes, and you know that.”

“Merlin’s not dangerous. Not like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. You know it doesn’t matter. Don’t pretend for a second that you’ve forgotten a single line of the law you upheld working here. Damn it, Arthur, you could have run this place in fifteen years. It could have been yours if you’d played your cards right.”

“But I played different cards.”

“And they’ve lead you astray and there’s nothing we can do for you. There’s _nothing,_ Arthur.”

“If you don’t let me go, he’s going to... Merlin’s going to die. They’re going to kill him.”

“I can’t help that,” she said, and there may have been a hint of remorse, Arthur couldn’t quite tell.

“Put the team on it, you have to investigate my intrusion and why I was here. I can tell you where to look, just... please. You have to do something. This had nothing to do with him.” 

“That’s not our concern.”

“Please, Mithian. For me. We were friends. Please, just do this for me. Just look into why they might want that file. Please.”

He could see her expression wavering, the hesitancy.

“I wouldn’t have thrown this away if he wasn’t worth it and he is. He’s been worth it every damn day, Mithian. I wouldn’t walk in here knowing how little a chance I had of walking out after I’ve spent two and a half years running as hard as I could away from this place. Not if I didn’t know that I need him. Just look into Gareth, please.”

He could feel Leon watching him by the doorway; he could feel his old friend’s distress, then, and the anger from before fell away. He had known Leon since they were children, mere boys years away from puberty, running through the corridors of the State offices, hiding from their nanny’s and causing mayhem only children could cause and getting away with it. Leon had always been loyal, to a fault. He had been Arthur’s right hand for longer than Arthur could think back on and seeing him again... after two and a half years was uncomfortable in itself. Knowing everything he had done to betray his old friend and those ideals they’d shared was painful. But it was nothing on the constant burn under his skin knowing what was happening with Merlin. Knowing that after everything Merlin had done to make sure he was safe, it was enemies he’d made _here_ that had caught up with them. Enemies that had nothing to do with Merlin or Emrys or even Pendragon. Merlin was being held hostage because someone had figured out that Pendragon was actually Arthur, Arthur Dubois, the Albion Knight.

Mithian made a sound like a cat and for a moment it was like they were children again, squabbling at the kids table at a banquet in Escetia because they were too young to be of any use making allies.

“Lock him up,” she said instead.

*

Gwaine didn’t like the Lower districts. They had an air about them that was decidedly dirty. Not literal dirt, Camelot had plenty of that no matter where you lived, as did any town. No, the Lower Districts were different, there was something fowl in the air, corrupt, which, given his own provocations to do with the law, was slightly hypocritical. But it still unsettled him. Merlin had no qualms about it, the Lower Districts were full of people on the fringes of society and Merlin had grown up a part of them. So had Gwaine, and he was determined to stay as far away from the squalor of his youth as he could. Others weren’t quite so voracious in their attempts to leave and so never did. Or they grew accustomed and decided against it. A few of them were of a good sort, willing to help Merlin out more than once and that tended to put them in Gwaine’s good books. 

Gilli was one such fellow. He was only a little younger than Merlin, and while he hadn’t the magical talent Merlin had in spades, he was determined to keep himself free regardless. Gilli had been lucky, he’d managed to slip through the testing and had kept his head down, until his little sister’s powers had manifested – so much stronger than Gilli’s, and had caused so many more problems. They’d run as far as they could, but not quite far enough. Gilli’s sister, Mara, had been terrified and whether through accident or no, Mara and her mother had been killed in a car accident while trying to move from one location to another to avoid the Witchfinder. Gilli and his father had been ignored after that, by the authorities at least, Gilli’s own magic still too weak to be picked up – but as puberty and anger were wont to do, he’d grown to a grade five by the time he was eighteen and met Merlin. 

Merlin’s extra-curricular activities had him moving from place to place like a sparrow, while Gilli had settled down in Camelot, in the lower districts, using the contacts he’d made to help pass information along. He’d established himself as a reliable fence and had an open network of information. 

If Merlin’s database didn’t know anything about his kidnappers, then Gilli was the next person to check. 

Running up the last couple of stairs he knocked on the peeling green painted door and waited, listening to the muffled shuffle in the hallway before the door cracked open.

“Gwaine?”

“Merls needs your help,” he said and watched the surprise fade out of Gilli’s expression. He pulled the door open wide and let Gwaine in. The flat wasn’t large and ostentatious like his own. Gilli was happy to sit pretty in a modest place that didn’t draw attention. Half his information came from staying out of the limelight.

Who was Gwaine kidding? Pretty much all his information came from staying out of the limelight. Gilli was a paranoid bugger, with caterpillar eyebrows and a twitching mouth to match his quivering personality. 

“What’s happened?” Gilli asked quietly, leading Gwaine further into the house.

“Bloody Arthur drew some attention somewhere. Gang of seven came to take him away, Merlin was there instead. They’ve taken him. Don’t know where, all we know is that they’re after a file on some bloke called Kil Gareth.”

Gilli’s eyebrows bunched together and his lips pursed.

“Don’t recognise the name, sorry.”

“What about them?” Gwaine pulled his phone out and clicked into the gallery, pulling up the pictures of Merlin’s kidnappers.

“First bloke looked to be the one in charge. The rest were lackies. My bets are that they’re not working alone, though.”

Gilli was quiet a moment, flicking through the pictures.

“They aren’t working alone, no,” he said, carefully and something crowed in victory in the back of Gwaine’s head.

“Who?”

Gilli looked anxious before he walked across the room to his own computer setup and started typing.

“That first guy is a hired goon. Not very smart, but he knows how to organise. He’s a sorcerer by the name of Alvarr. Grade six, if my memory serves me.” He typed something and Alvarr’s profile opened up onscreen.

“My bet is everyone he’s working with there are his. They won’t be bright, but they’ll be loyal and determined. Not easy to knock out, either. Better to outrun.”

“You sound like you’ve had a run in.”

“Not me, but a friend has.”

“Some friend.”

“Mmmmm. The worst part about Alvarr, is that he doesn’t work for himself. He tried once, it didn’t end well. Who he does work well with, is her.” Gilli clicked something and another picture opened up, this one settled a weight in Gwaine’s stomach.

“Bugger,” he swore and Gilli sighed.

“Yeah. Morgana Le Fay. And if you’ve been paying attention to all things ‘about to bite Merlin in the ass,’ word on the street says that Morgana has a sister. Morgause Gorlois.”

“Excellent: more problems. I’m going to smack him one when I see Merlin again,” Gwaine glowered and Gilli hesitantly smiled.

“Yeah, that’s if you don’t get killed first.”

“You’re not helping anymore, Gildred. I gotta go,” he said, clapping Gilli on the shoulder before heading across the room.

“Hey, you can’t send that stuff to Perce, could you?” he asked, just as he reached the door.

“Already done, Green,” Gilli replied, not even looking away from his computer. Gwaine smiled and let himself out. A wind had picked up in the time he was inside and the chill in the air did little to soothe him. Pulling out his mobile again, he hit speed dial and listened to it ring three times before Percy answered.

“ _What did you find out?_ ” he asked, in lieu of greeting. Normally Gwaine would have pulled him up on it, and the urge was there, but he let it slide.

“We’re fucked.”

_“How?”_

“Morgana and Morgause.”

_“Oh. Fuck.”_

“Yeah. How did we not think of them?”

_“Because they’ve left Merlin alone. Well, Morgana has. Has he done something to piss off Morgause?”_

“Piss off Morgana?”

_“That would be enough, wouldn’t it?”_

“Of course it would, it’s Merlin. Well, technically this whole thing was about Arthur. So what did Arthur do to piss them off?” 

_“Dunno. He hasn’t checked in.”_

“Fucking hell. I bet you a grand, Percival, that the Princess has gone and got himself caught.”

_“We shouldn’t have let him go in.”_

“No, we shouldn’t. But it was the best we had. It still is,” Gwaine conceded. He sighed. “The Knights have got Arthur, Morgana’s got Merlin, who they’re gonna kill unless Arthur gets what the Knights have, who still have it, cause they’ve got Arthur. What the hell do we have?”

_“Internet access.”_

“Beyond watching porn, what does that give us?”

_“The ability to warn Arthur?”_

“What do you suggest, Perce? We call his mobile and see if he picks up? If the Knights have Arthur, they have his mobile.”

 _“Then we tell_ them _that it’s Morgana and Morgause. They might be able to do something with the information from Kil Gareth that we can’t.”_

Gwaine sighed. He closed his eyes and enjoyed for a second the feeling of the wind blowing through his hair.

“Fucking hell, Merlin,” he murmured and then opened them.

“Do it, text him or something. Make sure they can’t trace it though. The last thing I fucking well need is for them to be able to trace it back to my bloody house.”

_“Will do. Get back here.”_

“Yes, love,” Gwaine answered before he could think and exhaled, letting the tension slide out of his shoulders as he stood on the corner of a street in the Lower District, feeling like they were in more shit now than they’d ever been while the Knights were after them.

Fucking Merlin.

 

*

In the two and a half years he’d been missing, Leon had thought through too many possibilities of how he’d find Arthur again. He’d been desperate to. After all, they’d grown up together, gone to school together, college, university – hell, they’d even sat their Qualifiers together. He’d failed and had to wait to follow Arthur through, but they’d been together after that. Arthur had been adamant that he wanted Leon and well, Arthur had been the wholesome type that Leon couldn’t help but believe in him. He was willing to follow Arthur anywhere he went because the daft sod was just a natural leader and he had a heart of gold. He’d wanted to do good since they were bloody kids no taller than knee height, pretending to be Knights while their fathers actually were. 

After Arthur had disappeared he’d missed him with a fierce longing that had been really rather unsettling. There had been no trace of him at all, it had been like Arthur had just stood up from his kitchen table where he’d been eating a korma and halfway through a beer and decided he was pissing off for a while. It had been the least-like-Arthur thing to ever do, and so for months Leon had been determined that something had happened to him. 

But the flat had been perfect, no disarray. There had been no prints, no suspect phone calls, no evidence that anyone else had been there at all. And then the rumours had started, bloody Emrys had pulled a job in London two months after Arthur disappeared and it was like the light bulb the Missing Persons division had been after. Emrys. Arthur’s obsession, the criminal that had been sitting in the back of Arthur’s head niggling at him for the five years they’d been in the Knights. It had been chasing Emrys that Arthur’s career had taken off. He’d seen the case in a pile of nothings handed out to probies and found a gold mine that just kept growing. Everyone had had their share of mocking Arthur, how five years later and he still hadn’t caught him, he’d found the case, but he hadn’t caught him. 

But then, no one else had either. 

The Director had taken the case off Arthur for six months, handed it over to an experienced Knight, someone who’d been there for decades and had the grey hairs and divorce to show for it. But he’d found less than Arthur had, and Emrys, Emrys had gotten bolder. He’d spent that six months tormenting Olaf constantly. He’d pulled more stunts and gotten away with more brazen jobs in that six months than he had with Arthur as his case agent. The mocking had increased then. Arthur had his own pet conman. Arthur had taken it in his stride, but clearly it had been more than that. There was something about the waver in Arthur’s voice as he’d talked about Merlin ‘Emrys’ Ambrose that made that kid who had known Arthur for nearly all his life start to smile. Some part of him that had found that happy ever after that Arthur and Leon had talked about when they were in college and determined not to follow in their father’s footsteps when it came to family. 

That had been what had bonded them the greatest, growing up: the fact that they didn’t have anyone else. Their fathers spent too much time at work, their caretakers swapped like seasonal fruit and there was no chance their mothers were ever coming back. Arthur’s at least had the excuse that she was dead, Leon’s had simply been unable to take any more of her husband’s crap. She’d tried to take Leon with her, at least, that’s what his memory told him. His memory also told him that he’d told her he wanted to stay and be just like his dad, saving the people of Camelot. He’s thankful he can’t remember the way she looked when he’d said it. 

He’d broken her heart just as his father had, and there was something in that, something in Arthur that made Leon stop. Stop and think, because he’d battled with the judgement of Arthur’s Blacklisting for over two years, after the rumours had taken hold and one of their inside men swore that Arthur Dubois was in fact alive and well, and working for the other side. Working with Emrys, the very man he’d spent so much time chasing.

Leon had thought he’d buried his friend’s betrayal, but now, having him here, alive, in the Compound, pacing back and forth with a furious patience and a haunted pull in his expression, it was very different to the man he’d buried in his head. This Arthur held so much of the old, the pride, the stubborn resolve, the compassion, the love for those he held dear – it was all there, it was still there. Only this time it was driven by a man that Leon himself had been chasing, Merlin Ambrose. Arthur was back in the Compound, because of Merlin – for Merlin. He’d attempted breaking into one of the most secure buildings in the country because his love had been taken. Arthur’s desperation to protect those he loved was still there, was still so brazen it almost hurt. 

“How long have you known him?” Owaine asked. Leon watched in the reflection on the monitor as the other man’s eyes flickered from Leon to Arthur on the screen and back.

“I mean, I assume you knew him. It was this team that did, right?”

“Yeah, Arthur was ours,” Leon replied, watching Owaine’s expression relax.

“It must be hard, seeing him like this,” he said quietly and Leon snorted. He didn’t have the time to entertain Owaine’s compassion. The man was nosy. He was quick to draw his gun, lazy in his investigations and was half the man that Arthur was. But it had been Owaine who was their latest stand in, and their longest running. He wasn’t Arthur, but he wasn’t bad. He was useful and had fit what they were looking for in their team, Leon couldn’t begrudge him that. And he hadn’t, not since the man had started with them six months ago. But with Arthur on the other side of that glass, and their history so close to his tongue, he begrudged the man everything.

“Something like that,” he muttered half heartedly towards Owaine as he walked towards the other end of the room where Elyan was leaning back in his chair, his feet resting on the table as he scrolled through the files.

“Anything in there?” he asked, quietly, glancing back at the monitor.

“Not much. The files have been redacted. All that’s here says that Kil Gareth was employed by the Knights as a researcher in MRD for over twenty years. It doesn’t say much. There’s piss all here, mismatched pages, like it’s been stapled together with the unimportant bits. There’re definitely bits missing. The only thing it does mention is this last lab he was working, something called ‘Ivan Bliminse’. God knows what that means.”

“It’s an anagram,” Leon said, reaching for the file Elyan was offering.

“For what?”

“Invisible Man. It’s a thing,” Leon shrugged and scanned the page. Elyan was right. The first page was the standard Bio, including the rare mention of the old MRD labs. That would be the reason why Arthur was here, _had_ to be here. These hadn’t been uploaded onto the system, and they weren’t going to be. They were locked up downstairs and left there until they were in dire need.

“Well, this Ivan Bliminse/Invisible Man thing was what he was working on when he was discharged in 1979. My little red flag says that might be the reason why. I mean, that was before the whole MRD was shut down. It had to have been this project.”

“Do we have the project file?’’

“Well that’s just it. All that’s left of the project file is the cover sheet and a whole bunch of blank paper. ‘TOP SECRET’ blah blah blah, Camelot Magical Research Department, Lab Chief – Knight Kil Gareth, Alpha Division. He was an Alpha, so this shit was special. Special enough that he got thrown out of the Knights for it and some thirty years later, we got a bunch of Magical Kidnappers wanting his files. My bet is that they know what this thing is and they want it.”

“Then we need to find out what it is that they want. Take this down to Gwen and get her to look deeper. I want to know if anyone has any idea what this is. I want the files.”

“On it,” Elyan said, swinging his feet off the table and sweeping out of the room a minute later.

“Owaine, I need you to go and double check the vault, make sure we didn’t miss anything. “

“On it,” Owaine answered with a little smile and disappeared after Elyan, leaving Leon alone in their office space with the monitor showing his old friend pacing back and forth and nothing else.

Leon cast it one last glance before he closed the door and headed towards Mithian’s office.

Normally their sector was quiet, very little foot traffic and the fellow Knights usually kept to themselves unless they needed something. If it hadn’t been that Leon had been in the hall at the right time and seen the familiar flash of blond out of the corner of his eye, then they wouldn’t have been anywhere near this case. It would have been handed straight up the command. But it had been Leon who caught Arthur Dubois, and Mithian who was given the case and she was leaving it with them. Giving them a chance they otherwise wouldn’t have had.  
And everyone seemed to know about it. He could feel people’s eyes on him as he followed Elyan. It was stifling, feeling so many covert gazes and trying not to listen to the quiet buzz of people pretending not to talk about you. And they were going to be talking about them for weeks to come.  
They’d caught Arthur Dubois.

Arthur, dammit, who was determined to go down as long as they helped him free Merlin.

Leon calmly crossed the room and took the stairs that lead up to the second level, where the run of supervisor’s offices ran around the edge of the bull pit. Counting six doors down, he knocked on the door and let himself in before Mithian could call him.

She looked up immediately and Leon took in the frown she was wearing, how it curved her mouth down into a near-pout and creased a line between her brows.

“Leon,” she said, her voice with an ounce of warning and intrigue.

“The Gareth file. It’s been redacted,” he said, watching for her reaction. “There’s all but nothing in it.”

“I guessed as much,” she sighed, sitting back in her chair.

“Oh you did, did you? Why?”

“A feeling. A half remembered memory.”

“And how is that going to help us? Or Arthur?” he asked, sounding more annoyed than he felt, really. Which was strange, even for him.

“I’m looking into it,” she said fixedly.

“How?” he pressed. “The pages are empty or otherwise a biography. We probably could have got the same information out of Google.”

Her scowl deepened and Leon knew he was close to stepping out of line. He’d never gotten close before now, but then Arthur’s appearance had an effect on everyone and perhaps it was showing in them both now. 

She spoke slow and calmly, like she was trying to explain something to a child.

“The old files are redacted, yes. But if I’m right, this has something to do with Uther Constance.”

Leon exhaled in an attempt to calm himself. It seemed obvious in hindsight, it made sense. Uther; no wonder they went after Arthur then, the only person on the planet who Uther Constance would blink for. If they had captured Arthur as they had planned, then it would have been Uther handing over the information, not Arthur stumbling around blindly searching for something he didn’t know anything about.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that there’s nothing in those files. There isn’t another copy, Uther made sure of that. I’d like to see him read through all that black ink.”

“If Uther’s involved, Leon, then the information we need is on floor zero, in the MDD labs.”

“Even if it is, Uther won’t share his information. Not for this. Not for Ambrose. He might if they got Arthur and we had Ambrose in custody, but not the other way around.”

“I know. Uther won’t help voluntarily. He’s fought tooth and nail to keep what he’s doing down there in the utmost secrecy. The board, however, can overrule the individual directors. I’ve lodged a request with Bayard. This coup could get us Ambrose, a Black Listed Knight and an organised syndicate with enough draw to take on Emrys and get away with it. I’m hoping it’s enough pull.”

“Have they said anything?”

“Not yet. But Emrys made a fool out of Bayard years ago, he’ll have held onto that grudge. It might almost be enough to get us what we need.”

Leon nodded, as much as he knew he was going to hate what this whole thing was about to become, it was a good plan. There were reasons Mithian had scaled so high so quickly in the treacle thick world of the Knight’s political sphere. 

“Call me if you need help with the boxes,” he said with a curt nod, before heading to the door.

*

Morgana watched in abject fascination as Merlin blinked slowly, his eyes without focus, staring blankly ahead. His body was slumped against his restraints and he was in no way lucid, but a part of her pitied him all the same. His body was going to ache in ways he’d never experienced once he gathered back his wits and she relished the chance to see it. If he ever did regain his wits at all, that was. It would be interesting to see just how far her sister’s torture could be taken, because Morgana had never seen it pushed quite as far as Morgause had on Merlin.

But he still hadn’t said a thing. His broken, crying repetition when she had returned at the end of her sister’s fury had finally been accepted when it became the only thing Merlin had been able to utter, a whispered cry that she had half believed he wasn’t even aware he had been saying.

Merlin stirred, just a little, and his head lolled to the side. Once again he moved in a long, slow blink and once done, continued to stare into the distance. Morgana in turn shifted in her position in the doorway.

She became aware of a caressing warmth from behind her and she glanced over at her sister’s approach before Morgause could get within distance of the doorway. Neither sister said a word until the elder leant on the opposite side of the frame and looked at their captive. She snorted in disdain.

“He will return to himself soon,” she said simply, her annoyance still shining through. 

“Will his wits?”

“He’s somewhat conscious now, I see no reason he will not be fine. And if he isn’t then it will make no matter. I assume you have not changed your mind about returning him to his lover?”

“I have not, no,” she replied, eyeing Morgause. Her sister had never wavered in the time Morgana had known her. She had maintained this irrevocable calm that Morgana envied. Especially now. They were close, Merlin’s capture instead of Arthur’s had posed a threat earlier, but it had worked out in their favour, now. However, despite what profit they could make by exchanging Merlin in Arthur’s place, having him within her grasps was enough to make her blood boil. It was difficult to withhold her anger and throughout it all Morgause barely blinked.

“Then it will be fine,” Morgause soothed, “Uther will get Emrys, Arthur will bring us what we need to disappear without a trace. We will return him to you, Morgana. Never fear that.”

“I don’t,” she replied, sharper than she intended.

Morgause smiled. “I am glad. It was a pity that Emrys couldn’t be more forthcoming. You were right in your assumptions, sister. He does not know about his gift. If it were my own I would have sought out its origins.”

“Merlin has never been quite so curious in that regard. A consequence instilled in him by his mother.”

“Then she was a foolish woman to have trained such a stubborn child. He has paid for his pride.”

“And Uther? Do you believe he will agree?”

“He will. For Emrys, he will. To have the life of the man who stole your son away sitting in the palm of your hands, if it were you, Morgana, would you be so merciful to Uther?”

“No.”

“Then have faith that your revenge on Emrys will be swift from Uther’s hands. When Mordred is safe we will return for Uther, until then, we let this plan come to fruition. It will not do well to burden ourselves too greatly.”

Morgana nodded, looking back at Merlin. She should be more happy about him like this, she knew. Merlin had played his part, but seeing him so vulnerable now, barely cognizant and without his magic, it was hard to punish him.

But she would, she would take her chance when she got it. Merlin would pay for making her forget Mordred when he needed her.

“Have you made the call to Uther?” Morgana asked, looking to her sister. Morgause frowned.

“I think that would be best left to you, sister,” she replied and Morgana nodded.  
“Soon,” she said. “After Merlin wakes.”

* 

She had been fourteen when she had first thought that one day Arthur Constance was going to give her an ulcer. He had been an irritating child, pompous and proud. He had been determined to follow in his father’s footsteps and had no qualms about telling everyone they were wrong if they disagreed with the finely tuned rules of the world that Uther had instilled, whether by direct influence or Arthur’s desperate need for approval.

Some fifteen years later (give or take, please god, take) Arthur seemed to be living up to her whims rather well, in that irritating way he had of over excelling everyone’s normal expectations.

Only Arthur could use the only spontaneous thing he had ever done and turn it into something that gave her more work to do in the space of several hours than she did in a month. Ok, so maybe she was overestimating, but she was damn well allowed. Her childhood friend was on a one way road to a life term prison sentence, and it was her job to save said friends lover, who, if she was doing her job properly, she should be arresting as well.

Not to mention this whole thing had suddenly found her bumping heads with Uther Constance, the old man she used to be scared of as a child. Who had always seemed ten foot high and terrifyingly stern.

What was worse, was that she was having to play one Director against another against another to get it all happening and if it went tits up, then she was going to have to pay the price just as much as Arthur was. 

Bruce Bayard fixed her a stern stare of his own over his glasses and then turned to face her properly.

“And you’re sure that Constance has the information.”

“I’m certain, sir,” she said and watched the indecision flitter across the man’s face before it settled. 

“Right. Well, I put it to the board, and they agreed to give you the clout, Agent Nemeth, on the proviso that you bring Merlin Ambrose into custody. I want that boy found and brought to justice. Is that understood? This team of yours is being given the chance to bring down a handful of dangerous criminals. Don’t let this slip out of your fingers, you hear?”

“I won’t, Sir,” she replied, determined to keep the flush of success off her face. She couldn’t help it; this wasn’t something to take lightly. As of this moment, she had authority over Uther Constance.

Bayard nodded and reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a folded set of orders.

“If Constance argues your point - as he undoubtedly will - give him this,” he said, handing her the paper.

“And remember agent Nemeth, keep me posted, will you?”

Mithian smiled, feeling oily as she did it.

“I will, Sir,” she said, with a saluting nod and left, clutching the orders with a too tight grasp, really. They were going to tear.

*

Out of them all, it really was going to be Gwen who took the news of Arthur’s strange reappearance the worst of them all. At the time of his disappearance, she had been dating Lance all the same, and it had been over two years since she had broken up with Arthur (who had been rather determined in catching Emrys, if Leon’s memory served him correctly, how telling hindsight was), but that hadn’t stopped her caring for him in the slightest. There was very little any of them could do, Leon reckoned, that could stop Gwen loving them. Even Elyan taking assignment overseas for eighteen months without telling her where, hadn’t stopped her caring. 

This was sort of similar, Leon guessed. But Elyan had at least told her he was going. He couldn’t have told her where, given that it was an undercover mission and delicate on its best days, but she had known he was going. Arthur had just disappeared on them all without a word. Given, if he’d said what his plans were they probably would have had him sectioned, but it still sort of mattered.  
So it was no surprise really, when he entered her den of monitors and whirring engines to find Lance sitting on the opposite side of the room looking put out and wistful as only he could after being told off, as Leon guessed had happened.

“Knock, knock?” he asked, pausing in the doorway. Gwen turned to face him.

“Have _you_ talked to him?” she asked a little wildly, jumping straight into a conversation that was already half finished.

“Yes,” he replied, not bothering to ascertain they were both talking about the same person. There was only one person they could have been talking about.

“I interrogated him.”

“You _interrogated_ him?” she shrieked, spinning on her chair and waving her arms. “Why?”

“He was caught breaking into the vault, Gwen. Arthur’s – there’s no changing his blacklisting now.”

“Of _course_ there is!”

“No, there isn’t. He broke the law.”

“Because his boyfriend has been kidnapped! Don’t tell me there’s nothing you wouldn’t do if someone hurt someone you love. Don’t even _try_.”

Leon sighed. 

“I wish there was something I could do,” he offered, somewhat lamely.

“Then do it! Find it and do it!” Gwen demanded. 

“I can’t. We have our orders. The best way we can help Arthur is to get Ambrose free. The only way to do that is to treat Arthur like a criminal.”

Gwen’s face fell, her anger softening.

“I thought he was dead, Leon. We looked for him and he wasn’t anywhere and dead was so much better than being a crook. And now I learn that he was happy. He found someone to love and love him back, and I wish he could have found that with us, but he didn’t and now we have to treat him like he’s dirt.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Leon said again, feeling just as low as Gwen looked.

“The best we can do is free Merlin Ambrose. That’s what Arthur came here to do.”

“Has Mithian given you orders yet?” she asked softly, sadly. Leon paused, a little confused. 

“I guess not,” Gwen said, sounding relieved.

“What orders, Gwen?”

“To arrest Merlin when we find him.”

Leon sighed.

“We’re going to have to, you know. He’s on the wanted list.”

“Maybe we should do what we think is right, instead.”

“Last week Merlin stole 3.4 million pounds worth of antique diamonds from a banks safety deposit box in Rome, Gwen. He has it coming to him.”

“It wouldn’t be for Merlin, and you know it. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think it was worth it.”

“Love shouldn’t be worth your life,” he argued and Gwen’s face fell. She looked sympathetic and it made him uncomfortable.

“Oh Leon,” she sighed, sounding sad. “I hope one day you discover how wrong you are.”

This had spiralled so far out of his grasp, really.

“I need you to focus, Gwen,” he cautioned and she nodded.

“What do you want?”

“Do you have anything on the MDD labs?”

“Not much,” Gwen frowned, looking confused.

“Mostly just what’s available on the main servers, their funding budgets, a private list of all active Knights – it’s really not much. It’s a closed network. Like, really closed. Massive firewalls closed.”

“Tell me you’ve been misbehaving and have a backdoor in?”

“I wish I could, but when I said massive firewalls, I mean massive. Whoever they have working it in there is good. Scary good.”

“Right,” Leon sighed, disappointed. He was jumping the gun, really. Mithian had a magic touch of her own and he didn’t have any hesitations in believing that she could get access to the MDD files. It was just a matter of time constraints, really. Arthur had said in his interrogation that he had a time limit of his own. One that had drained away considerably. There was time left, but there was also a life at stake. It was a criminal’s, but a life none the less. 

“What do we need from the MDD?” Gwen asked, softly.

“The file on Kil Gareth from the vaults is redacted; Elyan should have showed it to you?”

“He came by earlier,” Lance said, finally speaking up and pushing himself off the filing cabinet in the corner, finding the area safe now that Leon had calmed his wife down.

“Mithian thinks that the MDD has an active file on Gareth.”

“Why would it be active?”

“Continue the research?”

“Why would they be continuing it? I thought with any magical experiments they’d need magical subjects to trial it on and...” Gwen trailed off quietly, looking vaguely ill.

“They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

“No,” Lance said, sounding as uncertain as Leon felt. Leon was about to agree when a sharp buzzing and several dual tone beeps echoed from the other side of the room making all three of them jump.

“What was that?” Lance asked as Leon started across the room towards the sound. Gwen had a long table covered in wires and cables, adapters, switches, motherboards and various other bits and pieces Leon had no idea which way was up or down. She also had the security footage from Arthur’s break-in running on a slow loop through a monitor in the corner and next to it Arthur’s mobile in a plastic bag, blinking at him.

The phone blinked again and Leon reached for it warily and working through the plastic evidence bag, opened the message.

And swore.

“What is it?” Lance asked, looking up from where he was leaning over Gwen’s shoulder.

“ _Dear Knights, If you would be so kind as to look into Taigan Alvarr, Morgana Le Fay and Morgause Gorlois? They have something of ours and we’d quite like it back.”_

“Morgause Gorlois and Morgana Le Fay?” Lance asked, his voice dark.

“No wonder Arthur was desperate enough to come here,” Leon murmured.

“Gwen,” he said, pushing that first wave of dread back and took hold of himself.

“I need everything you have on Morgana Le Fay, Morgause Gorlois and this Taigan Alvarr. I want everything. Whatever you find send up to the room. Lance, gather everyone and meet me up there in fifteen minutes. I’m going to Mithian.”

Lance nodded and with a soft caress of his finger against Gwen’s neck as an unspoken goodbye, he hurried to follow orders.

Leon nodded at Gwen and followed after, instead of following Lance further into the melee of the current floor, he headed for the stairs and took them two at a time until he reached Mithian’s office again. 

Mithian was on the phone herself, sounding somewhat condescending as he broached the doorway, Arthur’s phone still clutched in his hand.

“No, you misunderstand _me_ , I don’t want it done tomorrow, I want it done now. No. _Now.”_

Leon held up the phone and waved it. 

Mithian fixed him with a dark glare and rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Agent Collins. I understand your worries, but they are irrelevant. I want the information today.”

“Mithian,” Leon said, a touch of authority in his voice that had her glaring at him. He ignored it and continued.

“You need to see this,” he said to her raised eyebrow, holding out the mobile phone.

“It’s Arthur’s phone,” he clarified and she reached out to take it, still looking annoyed. That expression changed a moment later. 

“Arthur’s friends have kept working, it seems,” Leon said, somewhat jovially as she read it, her expression darkening.

“Oh dear,” she said and immediately hung up the phone on her desk, cutting off whoever had been making excuses to little effect. 

“Yeah.”

“Does Lance and Guinevere know?”

“Yeah, I was there when it came through.”

“Right, well, make sure Guinevere gathers everything we have on Morgana Le Fay and Morgause Gorlois. I want _everything_. I don’t care who has those files, they’re now mine.”

“Yes, Ma’am, she’s already on it,” Leon said, with a grin he couldn’t help, especially given Mithian’s reaction. “They’re taking them up to the room afterwards. Lance is finding the rest of the team.

“Good, you can come with me. We’re heading down to the MDD.”

“You got the authorisation then?”

“I did,” she said, sounding grim but pleased. Leon smiled.

“Then let’s go and get them then,” he said waiting for her to take the lead.

The trip was quiet, neither of them said anything as they crossed the bullpen to the elevator and the only thing Mithian said after that was to bark at the others riding the lift to get out. Everyone scarpered. She may not have been an active Knight, but Mithian Nemeth was not someone to mess with, and everyone knew it. Everyone seemed under the impression that one day she would be running the place and had no desire to get under her feet. Leon silently agreed with them.  
He watched as she input her ID into the touch screen pad on the elevators side panel and the box jerked before climbing down, down, down, further than Leon had ever taken it and his sense of direction short circuited for a moment as the doors opened far beneath the earth’s surface and he was blind sighted by the fluorescent lights against the startlingly white interior. 

Mithian’s heels echoed on the tiles as she stalked out of the elevator and into the atrium hallway towards the locked door. She input her code again and leant down to hold her eye in front of the retinal scanner. Leon watched as the bright red light just below the keypad changed to a brilliant green and with a release of air pressure, the door opened and they stepped into the MDD. It was nowhere near as bustling as any other division upstairs, there was a decorum to everything, an intensity that was odd. A tension that was palpable. 

Leon followed Mithian who seemed to have some idea of where she was going or enough confidence to inspire Leon to be ashamed of his own. 

Which ever it was he wasn’t sure, because they hardly had to go far at all before a furious looking Uther Constance was suddenly stalking towards them through the melee of white desks that filled the circular dome of the bull pen.

“You don’t have the authority to be down here, Agent Nemeth. Agent Cameliard doesn’t have the authority to even know about this place,” Uther snarled, coming on with the offensive straight away. Leon had almost forgotten he did that. He hadn’t been quite so forceful when he and Arthur had been children, but after Arthur had disappeared, well, the gloves had come off and a part of Leon was sure that Uther blamed him in some way. But it had been months since Leon had seen Uther upstairs. It was almost like the man didn’t exist, if it wasn’t for his raging reputation.

“I’m here because I need files on a number of suspects I have, Director, and your division seems to have the only current copies.”

Uther sneered.

“Need I repeat myself, you don’t have the authority for any of my files, Agent Nemeth,” Uther growled and Leon could see Mithian’s sense of self-satisfaction go up a few notches. Uther was one of the old agents, stuck in their ways and their grievances. The man was against magic, against women, against everyone but those very few who obeyed him without question and so very few did these days. He had a department, but Leon was sure that not one of them had Uther’s trust, they were just useful. Even his own son had been beyond Uther’s reach and there had been a time when Arthur had been desperate for it. Desperate for anything his father could give him. 

“I think you’ll find, Director, that I do,” Mithian said, her tone professional and direct and Leon could still hear the smug satisfaction in it. “I have the authority to claim anything that does or possibly can relate to my case, Director, which presently includes both Morgana Le Fay, her sister Morgause Gorlois, Black Listed Agent Kil Gareth and project Ivan Bliminse.” 

“Says who?”

“Says the Board. Your authority has been overruled. This taskforce is mine and I’ve been informed I have maximum clearance for anything involved. So, if you will, Director. I would like my files. Please.”

Seeing the bulging of Uther Constance’s eyes at the impudence of Mithian’s tone was enough to set Leon up for life. He could die a happy man, having seen everything life had to offer, now that he had seen Uther Constance speechless.

*

All but two boxes of files were digitised, much to Leon’s relief, but it still left him with the two boxes to carry. 

The rest of their team was waiting in the Room for them just as they had been ordered, even Gwen had left her sanctuary of computer monitors in exchange for their round table. However, at that present moment she was fiddling with the large television screen that Leon had been watching Arthur on earlier.

She looked up as Leon set the boxes down on the table and Mithian followed behind him to hand the external hard drive over to Gwen.

“In these boxes are the MDD’s current files about Kil Gareth. As you’re all aware, Arthur Dubois broke into the lower vaults looking for information about said ex-Knight. He tells us it’s in exchange for Merlin Ambrose. I want to know what exactly this information is, what it means and how much it’s worth to Mr Ambrose’s captors. Everyone take a file and lets work through it all. Gwen, run through the digital copies and print out anything of importance. Everyone else, dig in.”

No one wasted time dallying around Mithian’s orders. Lance pulled the first box to him and tossing the lid aside split the contents with Elyan. Leon pulled the second his way and tossed a wad of folders into Owaine’s waiting grasp, emptying the last of it in front of himself. He was dimly aware of Gwen on the other side of the room flipping open her laptop and plugging in the tiny hard drive Mithian had given her.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of Gwen’s fingers on the keyboard and the gentle crinkle of tuning paper echoing around the room.

The files were absorbing. It hadn’t passed Leon by the extremity of their situation. They were looking into high profile files, high clearance secrets because someone who had been one of their own was in the Fishbowl downstairs. They were being allowed access to Uther Constance’s secrets.

The secrets that had split the Knights in half and weakened a sector of the force who had once been an integral part.

Kil Gareth had been one of the first casualties. 

The files in Leon’s hands were about the man. Kil Gareth had been dedicated, it was obvious from the way the files had been written, each of them dated after the man had been discharged. But the honour was still there in the way they were phrased. It was still there in the way the old man had disappeared. His research had been shut down and confiscated and he had been thrown out on his own. But it hadn’t stopped him. The man had kept going in the face of adversity and so had others.

Peyton Balinor had helped him. The Knights had tried to keep track of the old man, but he had disappeared. They had spent a good stretch of time chasing him and when he had been found, it had been Balinor’s fault.

Balinor, a young man in his early thirties when he had disobeyed his code and like Arthur, had broken into the vaults and attempted to steal Gareth’s files. He had been more successful than Arthur. There had been information for him to find, it appeared and he had help. August Gorlois, a man who felt familiar on the edge of his tongue in a way he couldn’t place.

Gorlois had been killed, but Balinor had made it out, and he had made it to Gareth, who had disappeared again. But Balinor was wanted from that point out as well, and Balinor had contact with Gareth.

Among others.

It was as he read through the report on Balinor that made him stop short. He pushed his chair back and while the wheels didn’t shriek against the floor, his movement had the same reaction – everyone around the table stopped to look at him as he got up and walked over to Mithian.

“Look at this,” he said softly, pushing the file in front of her and pointing to the line. He watched as her eyes flitted back and forth down the information and then widened as it sank in. She looked up at him, her shock turning into that shrewd concentration that said her brain was buzzing and that someone, somewhere should duck for cover.

“What? What is it?” Elyan asked, intrigued, breaking the quiet spell around the room. Leon glanced at Mithian, who nodded once in affirmation.

He cleared his throat.

“When Gareth was discharged, his research had to stay behind. At some point he made a contact in a young Knight, a magic user called Balinor. Balinor broke into the vaults and stole back most of the research before disappearing. We still couldn’t find Gareth, but we could find Balinor. He was staying with a woman named H. Ambrose.”

Lance blanched, the information registering quickly.

“Ambrose,” Lance said. “As in...”

“Gwen, pull up Merlin’s file,” Mithian ordered and Gwen jumped to follow, every pair of eyes in the room staring at the screen.

“Bloody hell,” Lance swore, which was saying something.

“This just got a whole hell of a lot more interesting,” Elyan muttered, throwing his file down on the desk.

“Do you think Arthur knows?” Gwen asked softly and every pair of eyes turned to her.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Mithian said, pushing her chair back.  
“Lets compile everything we have. After that we’ll deal with Arthur.”

*

Gwaine had never been one to sit idle. It drove him mad. The trip back to his own house and a waiting Percy had been enough to stir his thoughts around the bend more than once.

Percy was just where he’d been before, sitting in front of the screens, his fingers pressing at the keys with a similar precision to how Merlin usually did. He wasn’t as fast, but Gwaine had to give it to him.

“Have you found anything?” he asked warily as he descended the last few stairs and headed towards the desk. Percy spun in his chair to face Gwaine as he sat down. His expression was weary. He was getting tired. It was still relatively early, but given the amount of stress the day had already involved, it was only time permitting that had them all still standing. That’s if bloody Dubois still was.

“Not really,” Percy said, grimly, turning back to the keyboard.  
“I looked up Morgana and Morgause in Merlin’s system and there’s not much. The last time Merlin mentions her was a few years back. She was out in Escetia for a while, hitting up magic antiquities. There’s nothing here mentioning her being back in the city.”

“Damn, what about Morgause?”

“Merlin has even less on her. Morgause usually hides up North, again, Escetia is her big hangout spot, so I think we can guess what Morgana was doing up there, and I’d like to place bets they had something to do with Cenred while we’re at it.”  
There was the briefest hint of a smile on Percy’s lips then and Gwaine had to swear because when his brain caught up a moment later he realised he was going to lose out on a lot of cash regarding that next time they met up with Tristan.

“When she’s not getting rid of idiots like Cenred, there’s a couple of jobs up in Caerleon she looks to have pulled. She plans though, they’re all big jobs. She’s got big contacts too – the Black Knights of Medea for one.”

Gwaine whistled through his teeth. That took balls.

“What does she like to take then? That might give us some idea of what she’s wanting out of this Kil Gareth bloke.”

“She’s big on the old stuff. Magic relics, mostly.”

“Well then let’s safely say this has got something to do with magic then. Little bit obvious but I’ll say it anyway. Does it say what grades they are?”

“Merlin thinks Morgana’s a 7,” Percy grimaced and Gwaine couldn’t help but wince.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Morgause is higher than that.”

“Yeah. Merlin’s a nine, though. Or something high. He’s never really been definite but he’s always said he’s never met anyone who could beat him in power stakes.”

“But Morgana and Morgause study.”

“Does it say that?”

“Yeah. They’re dangerous, even for Merlin. And if they’ve got old magic relics…”

“Do any of them work anymore? Magic isn’t as strong as it used to be.”

“No, but it’s been hours, I think we have to accept that something they have is holding Merlin. I’ve been hoping he’d man up and just use his magic to get away, but clearly he wont. Or he can’t.”

“Clearly.”

“So something more is going on here. Merlin’s not coming back of his own volition and Arthur would have checked in by now if he could.”  
“We should have put a wire on him,” Gwaine scowled and Percy shot him an exasperated look.

“You know their sensors would have picked it up straight away, Gwaine. We had to rely on Arthur and that’s fallen through. We have to figure this out on our own. For Merlin.”

“I’m not arguing there, Perce, but I don’t see what we can do. It’s not like we have the phone, else we could talk to the bitch sisters ourselves,” Gwaine snarled and Percy scowled, opening his mouth to answer but Gwaine shut him off.

“We don’t even know whether or not those bloody Knights are going to do anything useful of their own. It’s not like they could reply to that text and tell us they even got it.” He said with a dramatic flail of his arms. “They couldn’t right?” he pressed, quietly, a moment later. This time Percy rolled his eyes.

“They couldn’t reply. It was routed through too many servers for them to be able to trace. I might not be Merlin, but I’m using Merlin’s system and it’s one step away from being sentient, so quit whining.”

Gwaine was quiet for a moment.

“Could we stake out the Compound, see if we can trace whether or not they’re making a move?”

“The boundary is monitored, Gwaine. It’s as stupid for us to do that as it was for Arthur to actually go inside the bloody thing.”

“Then how are we going to do anything, then?”

“We do what we can from the outside. We know its Morgana and Morgause. Someone has to be crazy enough to help us find them.”

Gwaine smiled, the name bursting on his tongue before he had time to breathe. Percy must have been able to read it on his face because he looked wary.

“Don’t tell me, Gwaine. Come on. She’s not in town, is she?”

“You made me swear I wouldn’t bring her round anymore and I haven’t. Deal’s a deal.”

“Gwaine,” Percy growled and Gwaine couldn’t help the bursting laugh that bubbled up inside his chest despite everything.

“She is sorry about that Matisse, you know.”

“She bloody well should be!” Percy growled and Gwaine laughed again before he sobered.

“She’d help us in a heartbeat; even if it weren’t for Merls.”

“Call her then, see what she can find out. Realistically we need all the help we can get. But whether or not Elena will be any help...”

“Pfft, she’s a diamond, you big lug.”

“You’re only saying that because she sleeps with you whenever she’s in town.”

“It’s true,” Gwaine confirmed, still smiling. But there truly was something to Elena Godwin. She was the daughter of an oil tycoon, an heiress with no desire to do anything proper with her life and a father who loved her to the point he seemed unable to think anything bad about her. She was reckless and wonderful and Gwaine could never get enough of her.

“Do you need to head out or can she come here?” Percy asked, softly. Gwaine shrugged. 

“Let’s see?” he said, pulling out his phone. 

*

Arthur paced back and forth in his cell. The wall to ceiling frosted glass was polished enough he could see the glossy shadow of his reflection on the walls. His footsteps echoed back at him and he suddenly understood the tendency their captives had always had for talking to themselves when they’d put people in the fishbowl, as they’d called it. It was easy enough to understand going a bit mad if left in here with nothing but the twelve steps back and forth and his own reflection on every surface for company.

That and his thoughts. A man’s thoughts were more than enough to drive anyone insane and Arthur’s were a special grade. Guilt driven and loud, full of Merlin in every form Arthur knew, and this underlying fear he was forcing down, like God putting his hands over the peak of a volcano to stop it erupting. 

He was very aware of how close he was to doing something dangerous and reckless. Even more so given his current situation. What was more dangerous and reckless than breaking into the Knights Compound when you were on the Blacklist looking for a file hidden in the very bowls of the building where no one but the higher echelons of the hierarchy had access to?

His current position was the result of something reckless, but he was trapped in a glass box aware of the counting clock somewhere out in Camelot that a man with a scruffy beard and a desperate ambition to look badass was measuring for him. A clock that had Merlin’s life in the balance. And Arthur was in a box.  
Fucking hell, he was in a box, without the file and without access to his bloody phone should the bastards even call him.

Arthur growled and ran his hands roughly through his hair.

A sharp click on the other side of the room drew his attention and he stilled, watching the door like a cat would a mouse and waiting. It only took another moment and there was the faint sound of a beep and the door opened and Arthur caught sight of black satin and rolled his eyes.

“And what strategy would you call this?” he asked as Mithian closed the door behind herself and turned to face him. 

“I don’t know, Arthur,” she replied with all the unflappable grace he had remembered her for. “You were the one with the magic interrogation report, remember? I’m just a bureaucrat.”

“But a good one.”

“Flattery, Arthur? Really? Unfortunately this time it’s not going to get you anything nice.”

“Not even an unlocked door or six?”

“And I assume a disastrous blackout, rendering all the camera’s between here and the top floor useless?” she asked, her tone condescending. “Come on, Arthur, let’s not play games. We’re both old enough and much too busy to waste each other’s time.”

“Have you done what I asked?” he pressed, leading her further into the fishbowl. 

“I looked into the file, yes.”

“And what did you find?” he asked.

“Arthur – “ she brokered, sounding like she was about to cut him off completely and he rolled his eyes. He knew this tactic. She knew everything, he was willing to bet. Everything.

“Mithian,” he countered, cutting her off. “You looked into it. You know what it is they want with Gareth.”

“I have an idea.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Not right now,” she replied, her lips curling into a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. There was a seriousness to her posture that was making him wary. 

“Why not?” he asked, turning to face her completely. 

“Have you fallen so far, Arthur, that you now deign to ask stupid questions?”

“Tell me what it says.”

“No,” she said, with an air of finality.

“Then why are you in here? Why, Mithian? I am well aware of what I am; my status and everything that gives me. If you had to interrogate me some more you’d take me back to one of the rooms, not come to me in the fishbowl, reeking of questions.”

Mithian scrutinised him, her dark eyes narrowed and one finger tapping against the folders held against her abdomen. She must have found something she was searching for in his heady gaze, because he didn’t look away. It took a moment, but eventually she nodded.

“Follow me,” she said and turned back to the door. Entering her authority code the glass door opened with the rush of air pressure and stayed open. Mithian threw him a scrutinising look.

“Are you coming or not?” she asked, that wilful teasing back in her tone after a near on ten year sojourn.

Arthur gathered his wits and his caution and followed her. It was a short trip, and he gathered she had ensured it was. It was bizarre, as much for him as it was no doubt for their onlookers. He was a felon and yet he followed her with his hands free. He followed her much like a dog.

But their walk was short and it didn’t take long before she keyed in another code and a second set of doors opened, this time into the stretching space of the Cappa Division War room where the entirety of his old team was sitting warily around the desk, eyeing the doorway - and Arthur - apprehensively.

“Take a seat, Arthur,” Mithian said, as amiably as if he’d been on holiday all this time and not on the run. There were two empty spots – one at what was clearly considered the head of the round desk and that was clearly Mithian’s and one at the end that was clearly his. He walked across the room feeling like he was walking to the chopping block, feeling the wary stare of those people he had once counted as the most important in his life.

People he had discarded for Merlin.

People he now needed, needed to use in order to get Merlin back. Arthur had never felt as dirty in his life as he did right at that moment.

“All right, I guess we’re lucky none of us need introductions, so we’ll skip right to it. Leon, if you will – Gwen, as per, bring it up on the screens,” Mithian ordered and just like that it was like the old days. The lingering stares of everyone around him slid over to the large screen at the end of the room and Mithian, whose manicured fingernails drummed a perfect beat for a moment against the folders in front of her. She nodded at Leon, who cleared his throat and started talking, just as Arthur had once done when he had been in charge.

“Going by our reports, at 12:40 lunch time Merlin Ambrose was forcefully taken from his offices in downtown Camelot, premises unknown, by these men – Taigan Alvarr and his crew of hired – but loyal – thugs. Going by recent intel, it seems, and according to your pals, Mr Dubois, Alvarr is currently best friends with one Morgana Le Fay, who is spending some quality time with her sister, Morgause Gorlois. They found each other nearly two years ago, caused a ruckus and disappeared for a while. It seems like they were planning.”

On the screen clear photographs of Alvarr showed up, quickly followed by a woman with long dark hair and a curling smirk in her mouth, and an older blonde with shrewd dark eyes. Arthur’s wariness sank like a stone and transformed into cold dread. 

“So it’s Morgause and Morgana behind this,” he said, even sounding resigned to himself. Mithian eyed him for a moment before she spoke.

“It seems so. You received a text message to your mobile about an hour ago from your friends.”

Arthur snorted. Text message. Right. Out of all the ideas they had, Gwaine and Percy went with a text message.

At least they knew he wasn’t in control of his own anymore.

How, though, was another thing altogether.

“Keep going, Leon,” Mithian instructed and Leon obeyed. 

“Alvarr, their puppet, demanded in exchange for Ambrose, current information on one Kil Gareth, an ex Knight from the Magical Research Department.”

As Kil Gareth’s photo popped up on the screen Arthur cast another glance over at Gwen, who was making a point of not looking at him. Her lips were in a tight line and her gaze was fixed, but she was just as beautiful as he remembered, her hair longer and there was a ring glinting on her finger that truly suited her. Arthur could feel Lance’s dark gaze on him for a moment and he forced himself to look back at the screen and follow along. 

“At the time of his discharge, Gareth was working on a project called ‘Ivan Bliminse’, or ‘Invisible man’. It was a serum he was developing for the Sorcerers amongst the Knights, who, at the time were coming under increasing scrutiny from the illegal side of the magical community. Sorcerers have an individual signature and such signatures were getting some stings blown up or worse, some Knights killed. However, when magic users came under scrutiny inside the Knights, Gareth and his research were one of the first to go,” Leon said, sounding resigned, which was more comforting to Arthur than he had rights to, really. 

“If it was being designed to help, then why was he discharged?” Elyan asked from the other end of the desk. 

Mithian grimaced.

“Politics, Smith. At the time the Knights were in chaos regarding magic users. Certain higher members of the agency were against magic and suspicious of magic users in general. My guess is that Gareth was discharged because of the dangers of his serum. He couldn’t prove he wasn’t manufacturing it for misuse or to undermine the Knights from within because it was a serum designed to hide   
Magic. The agency felt vulnerable to a magical attack from within and threats that could hide a great deal of their skills were a dangerous commodity that no one was willing to risk. Not even to save lives.”

“But why not just shut it down?” Lance asked. “When he was discharged Gareth didn’t have it working. There would have been no harm.”

“Tell me, Dulac, if I told you that you and Smith could no longer be together because of protocol would you let it go?”

The look of outrage on Lance’s face was enough to quell the rest of the table and Mithian stood up, smoothing down her skirt.

“Based on the reports, this was something that Kil Gareth would not have left alone, and indeed, he did not.”

“And this is what Morgana and Morgause want? The information on this serum?” Arthur asked and Mithian nodded, looking relieved to have things back under her control. 

“That’s what we believe.”

“Then they’re trying to finish it.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why don’t I think you’re not telling me everything,” he scowled and Mithian smirked. Arthur could feel everyone’s eyes on him again and he bristled but refused to give into her. 

“Because we’re not. See, there is a lot more to Kil Gareth’s story than what we’ve said so far. A lot of it involves your father.”

“My Father?”

“Of course. Where do you think we got all this information from, Arthur? It wasn’t in the file you were trying to steal, I assure you that much. No, everything you’re hearing today is courtesy of the MDD Archives and the Director was not happy to pass them over. But that’s irrelevant. What isn’t irrelevant is that twenty seven years ago it was Uther Constance who started the Knights internal war on magic. Kil Gareth was discharged right at the beginning of the changes. Over the next couple of years, a lot changed in the Knights. Unfortunately, several Knights died. A lot of them sorcerers. Deaths that could have been avoided with Gareth’s serum.”

“You think he tried to finish it.”

“We’re certain of it.”

“See, Arthur, Kil Gareth was friends with a young Knight at the time called Balinor. Over the next year, Balinor lost his brother and his best friend due to mishaps and changes of protocol because they were magic. Sorcerers were forced to explain every action they took, sometimes even before they finished the mission. It got people killed. Balinor was angry. Understandably. Unfortunately, Balinor didn’t leave things to lie, no, he and a friend, August Gorlois, organised to confiscate what was left of Gareth’s notes from the vaults, where it had been stored after Gareth was discharged.”

“Did they get it?”

“They did. Except Gorlois was shot during their escape and died later that night. Balinor, however, made off with the notes and despite their best efforts it took months to track him down.”

“But he was found.”

“He was. He and Balinor had been working to complete the serum. There were rumours he finished it. But Uther was relentless and located him. When they realised they had been found, Balinor disappeared once again and Kil Gareth blew up his house, destroying himself and his serum, leaving Uther with very little to go with. Very little, but enough.”

“How long ago was this?” Arthur asked, feeling the first stirrings of dread.

“Nearly twenty seven years ago. Long enough for your father to develop a team dedicated to try and reverse engineer Gareth’s serum.”

“And has he?”

“We don’t know,” Leon said, looking uncomfortable.

Mithian sighed and all eyes drew back to her. 

“He _is_ developing something. I had the authority to take the files he had on Gareth and Morgana, but he was very specific about the active files. I think it’s our best guess that whatever he’s doing, he’s not using Gareth’s serum notes to hide sorcerers,” Mithian said, clearing her throat and reaching into her pocket for a small drive she rolled across the table to Gwen.

“Bring that up,” she ordered and Gwen jumped to it. Mithian didn’t wait until the file was on the screen before she started talking again.

“Uther was restrictive with what he allowed me to take from the MDD, however, I’m not one to always do what I’m told. I pulled this along with the other files,” she said grimly, turning in her chair to face the monitor. Arthur cast a quick glance around the table and was met with the stony stares of everyone facing forward. Tension in their shoulders – this was new to them, as well. 

“Uther has been in control of the MDD for the last fifteen years. In that time very little of what goes on down there is privy to anyone without the authority to be down there working. Not even the other Directors are fully aware of what Uther Constance does in the name of protecting us against Magic. Every few months new tech reports arrive. Developments on sensing magic users and how to combat their magic. Magic guilds are brought down, cartels. Criminals with a little too much flair are processed and conveniently never heard of again. It’s the MDD’s jurisdiction to ensure that they serve their time and hopefully aren’t repeat offenders. 

“I might not have the answers now, but given what Uther is developing from these files, I wouldn’t be surprised if the answers are found soon.”

She motioned to the screen finally staring back with the files from the second drive.

“Gareth wanted to use his serum to hide a sorcerers ability. It’s a natural affectation of their ability that they can sense each other. He wanted to temporarily stop that. Uther, however, is broadening his spectrum; he’s aiming to use Gareth’s original research to a greater extent. Try eliminating their ability. Controlling it. Binding it. He wants to use the research to help pinpoint sorcerers in the general public. It’s 100% foolproof, or so his brief believes.”

Everyone around the table is silent, staring at the monitor in abject horror. 

Arthur found his voice first, a desolate croak.

“He wants to use it to pick out kids?”

Mithian grimaced.

“It looks that way. The basis of Gareth’s serum is exponential but so far, nothing has ever been completed.”

“And it shouldn’t be. Magic users aren’t criminals,” Arthur scowled.

“Only some of them are. A lot of them are, Arthur. Like your Merlin.”

“And a lot of them become criminals because of their lot. If you’re persecuted because of something that you can’t help, what do you think these people are going to do? Follow the law? Of course not. It’s unjust,” he fumed, aware he was getting angry, how his blood was pounding at the idea presented to him like an inevitability. His father was developing something to take away the freedom of everyone born a little different. Already so many of them had to give up their freedom and safety and now, with this, there would be nowhere for them to run. No chance for them to hide. Or worse still, it would just be taken away from them. Something that could be so wonderful, as Merlin had shown him. Flickering lights in a fireplace, dancing in the shapes of dragons and birds; a tickling warmth in the palm of his hand; ripples in water and self-folding laundry. 

“It’s what happens,” Mithian said, sounding somewhat resigned. 

“Well it shouldn’t,” he snapped, watching as her resolution faded. 

“I agree,” she said, finally, before her shield rising back up, impenetrable as always. “But that’s not what’s important, Arthur. What’s important is that Morgana and Morgause weren’t after Merlin, they were after you.”

It was Arthur’s turn to scowl then, quaver behind his own mask, his own guilt.

“Merlin wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“Then we look at what they were going to use you for.”

“They just wanted the file. The guy on the phone said instead of getting information out of me, they were going to make me get the information for them.”

“Which means that either their plan is less formulated than we imagined, or they were telling a lot less to their lackeys than it first appeared.”

“All bets say the latter,” Leon muttered darkly. Arthur couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Then that still leaves us with why they wanted Arthur.”

“Uther,” Gwen said softly and the table quietened. 

“My father?” Arthur asked and Gwen’s expression tightened.

“Your father, Arthur. Two and a half years ago you disappeared. You might not have thought much on what you left behind, but we did. Your father did. He searched for you. It hurt him; I know it did, because it hurt me too. If someone said that they had you in exchange for some information, no matter how important and secret that information was, I have to say I would at the very least consider it.”

“Gwen’s right. This could all be about Uther.”

“Now that would make sense,” Arthur chuckled quietly. He fell silent as he felt the others watching him.

“What? Considering the information you got out of his labs. What do you think they’re trying to do? They wanted the information so they could use the serum to disappear. Before Uther can finish what he’s doing.”

*

The room was cold and the chair was hard against his back and his backside, but no matter the conditions, the weariness in his bones sent Merlin into a fitful sleep, a sleep, however, that wasn’t anywhere near restful. It was driven by exhaustion and paramount to passing out more than anything. 

When he woke fitfully, without any idea of how long had passed, how long he’d been captive, he was blessedly alone. 

His body ached, pushed to the limits of his endurance he’d never reached before, and as he groaned in the quiet and took stock of himself. He could still see Morgause’s anger reflected on the backs of his eyelids.

She had not taken his ignorance well. 

Moving his fingers Merlin winced as they cramped, his extremities feeling the absence of his magic the most. It wasn’t quite the same as extreme cold, he wasn’t going to die from hypothermia, and his fingers weren’t going to drop off. But that didn’t stop them feeling like they wanted to. His muscles felt tense and they ached, his head pounded and he felt childish and churlish as he sat there, his arms bound behind his back, whimpering. 

In all his twenty-six years he’d never been helpless; he’d got himself into some interesting scrapes over the years, but he had never been helpless and despite his lost magic, he wasn’t helpless now. He had built himself on the ability to continue his career without magic. Other people did it, others pulled off stunts he wouldn’t pull off with his magic, and he’d forced himself to get good at it. And he was, he was just as good as his non-magical contemporaries and they would all be scowling at him in displeasure at the display he was putting on, he thought grimly. Arthur would be disgusted with him.

Arthur.

Merlin stopped and clenched his eyes shut. Out of everything, he needed to get out of here for Arthur the most. Not himself, just Arthur. 

Merlin forced himself to take a deep breath and he rolled his shoulders, trying to work through the tense ache in them as he did. He needed to loosen himself up, he needed to relax, calm down, find that part of him that could focus solely on getting out. 

If he got out, then they could find something to break the cuffs and get him his magic back. But if he relied on his magic alone, he was going to die. 

Morgause and Morgana were going to kill him and they were going to smile while they did it.

Rolling his shoulders again he twisted against the chair to find his movement, what it allowed him to give and what restrictions he had even before he made an attempt on the rope. It was a small allowance that he was tied up at all, if it had been handcuffs then he would be screwed. He didn’t have anything in his pockets that could help him, he might have got lucky finding something around the room, but it would take time he didn’t have.

The cuffs binding his magic were thick metal and would have made it impossible for handcuffs to close properly. But rope, rope he could work with. Twisting his wrist against the rope he slid it back as far as it would go before it started digging into his flesh and rotated his hand, testing how much give he had. 

It might be enough, he thought grimly, testing it again.

Repeating the movement he felt the minor give of the rope around his wrist. All he had to do was stretch the bindings enough to give him room to slip one wrist free. He had long fingers and a slim palm, easy enough to follow through, as long as he could get his thumb through. Twisting his wrist he slid it back and forth once again, embracing the burn of the rope against his skin as part of his escape. They’d tied it tight and it tore at the skin of his wrists around the cuff, but compared to what Morgause had put him through earlier, it was nothing. The harder he worked, the more his residual drowsiness disappeared and with it the far off feeling of his magic. By the time he was all but free he could feel it again. It was there, but it was still just beyond his reach, still slugging and slow and the feeling left him off kilter no matter how desperate he was to escape. But it was there.

And desperate he was, because while he had no idea just how long he had been unconscious for, how long he’d been missing, the fact that both Morgana and Morgause had left him alone made him wary that something was happening, something important; something to do with their plan, and therefore, Arthur.   
And anything to do with Arthur had a lot to do with him, and he wasn’t going to stick around to have Morgana come back and gloat about what they’d done to the man Merlin loved.

God be damned, he wasn’t sticking around any longer. Not when he had his chance to escape.

Twisting his wrist again he winced as the skin tore and the rope burned against his bare flesh before it gave just another slip and the bulge of his thumb slid under the first line of rope. Merlin laughed, a brief burst of relief, as he twisted the rope to bunch it and give himself enough room to pull his hand completely free. The tips of his fingers felt a little numb as he worked the last loops and slid his right hand out from the rope and freedom. 

He brought his arms around gingerly and felt his muscles relax for a moment before he turned immediately to working the last of the rope from around his left wrist. It didn’t take long until he was free of it and he tossed it aside before pushing himself warily to his feet, gaging how steady he was before he let go of the chair altogether. His muscles were still sore from Morgause’s ministrations but they held him up and he breathed a sigh of relief as he staggered across the room to the door. The room was dimmer than it had been before, making it harder to see; the main light wasn’t on, but there was a large barred window on one side that was grimy and impenetrable that glowed faintly with a light from another room. It wasn’t from outside, Merlin knew that much; Morgana and Morgause wouldn’t be that foolish. 

Focussing his attention on the door Merlin ran his fingers over the lock, trying to get a feel for it and what surprises the girls had. It didn’t look complex, but he was willing to bet there was something extra on the other side. Something he couldn’t test with his magic. He had no chance at all of gaging whether or not he was setting something off by picking the lock.

But it didn’t matter in the slightest because before he got a chance to even look for a pick, he heard the dull _thunk_ of something beyond the door and as he took several shaky steps backwards the door opened with a heavy clunk and swung inwards.

“Nuh uh uh,” Morgana mocked as she entered, her heels clicking on the stone floor and her eyes flashing in amusement. She waved her hand and the door closed with a forced click that seemed to mock Merlin just as much as she did. There was a fierce glint in her eyes and his magic made a feeble attempt to flare up and break though the barrier between it and himself. 

In that moment, as Morgana advanced on him and his magic fizzled out in his veins, he felt more like a cornered animal than he had tied up, than he had when he’d been bound by those morons back at the office. At least then he had control over his situation, he had been able to match them if he had chosen to. When Morgana had first bound his magic he had been as weak and helpless as a kitten, but then he had still the opportunity to use that underestimation against them. They had left him alone and that had been his chance. Now, now it had all come to this – he was defenceless, cornered and weak and Morgana had always been resilient to his charms. 

The worst part of it all, though, was that Morgana knew. She was looking at him and she was smiling and she _knew_ she had him cornered.

It was all there in her smile, in the pleased bearing of her shoulders, the glint in her eye.

“I must admit, Merlin, I was hoping for a little more,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk that made her anger shine through. She was still beautiful, that was the unfortunate thing about her. His mother had always said anger had a way of corrupting the beauty of a person – but with Morgana, it just changed it. She had always been angry, this fierce determination he had admired all those years ago. But that was gone, the person in front of him now found pleasure in other people’s torment. 

His only comfort was the fact that he knew whatever this was, she believed was going to change things. That had been all she wanted before – change. No pressing fear of persecution, or the overbearing fear of one’s self because you had no peers to draw inspiration or comfort.

Morgana had become one of the saddest examples of what the laws against Magic had created, and he felt for her. A part of him yearned for her, pitied her that she hadn’t found someone who would take care of her. Accept her and protect her, the way Arthur had for him.

But in that moment, no matter how he felt for her otherwise, he was simply and genuinely scared of her.

Which was a new feeling.

It wasn’t a feeling he had very often, it was rare and destabilising and he took a step backwards.

Morgana’s expression brightened, her whole face lighting up with a burst of amused laughter.

“Oh Merlin, how the mighty have fallen,” she laughed. 

“I thought you’d have run off by now,” he taunted and she laughed again.

“And miss this? Oh no. Not for the world. No, you weren’t a part of our plan, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to look a gift horse in the mouth. This whole thing is working out just as well as it could have before, except with this I get the added pleasure of breaking you as well.”

“You won’t break me.”

“Won’t I?” she asked, sounding delighted and once again Merlin’s magic made an attempt to break though the barrier. He felt the instinct of it rush forward, burning hot and fading quickly, fizzling out against the wall between him and it.  
Like she knew exactly how he felt, Merlin watched Morgana’s eyes change from green to burning gold and the air crackled with her magic, bursting like electricity.

“Oh how I have never dreamed for this day, to have the mighty Merlin defenceless in front of me. It’s like Christmas.”

“I’m not as weak as you think,” he snarled, clenching his fists.

“Oh but you are. Arthur and your pet rogue may have taught you how to throw a punch, Merlin, but against me you won’t even get within touching distance,” she smiled and brought her arm up like she was making a point. She flicked her wrist, one long finger extended and it was like being struck across the face, a sharp stinging blow that Merlin felt split the skin. Instinctively he brought his hand up to the wound and his fingers came away bloody.

“You’re like a toy, Merlin, completely at my mercy. Embrace the feeling, it’s how your friends are going to feel when we pull their silly toy weapons from their hands and back them into the corner before we force them to their knees.”

“You’re insane, Morgana. Whatever notions you have in your head they’ll never work. Even if you had everyone with magic on your side, they still outnumber us.”

“But not as much as you think, Merlin. So many people have the ability, it just never manifests. Not anymore. You wouldn’t know, you treat the wounds, not attempt to defeat the source of their suffering. If given the chance Magic could be great. There is so much untapped potential - “

“And there it will stay. Magic is dying out.”

“And you are content to let it die? You, most of all? Don’t you miss it, Merlin? Now that you can’t reach it? That power? That warmth? Don’t you feel it?” she snarled, her magic curling around him, hot against his skin, reaching for his own, pulling at him. 

“How can you deign to let the sun burn out when you know how blessed you are to feel it? How can you stand behind scared cowards who know nothing but their own prejudice and fears? They don’t know what it’s like, so they fear it. They fear it and that justifies all their atrocities, and we let them do it because we’re scared of _ourselves_. But I wont be. I’m not scared anymore, Merlin. And I will get what’s mine.”

“They don’t have anything, Morgana. You’re free, they don’t have anything else to take.”

Merlin felt another curl of fear as her eyes flashed in anger, burning gold and her magic seeped from her fingers, curling up in wisping gold smoke. 

“Oh but they do,” she snarled, stepping towards him, her magic thickening in swirling streams. “They do. You don’t know what you took away from me when you broke me out of the Compound, Merlin. You broke me out and I was mad as a hatter and you stopped it. You took my memories away and you thought you saved me from the madness. But you didn’t. You made it worse.”

Merlin took another stumbling step backwards.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he stuttered and she laughed again.

“You didn’t, no. You thought you were saving me from my nightmare, and in a way you did. But your hands aren’t clean, Merlin. They’re covered in the tragedies of a little boy you left there.”

“There wasn’t anyone else there. There was only you.”

“Oh but there was. There still is. Just out of reach, dozens of them. But they aren’t anymore. You’ll be able to reach them all, very soon. I promise you that.”

She laughed, the sound like a ringing bell that made Merlin’s insides curl up in terror as her magic curled around him like a snake stalking it’s prey, teasing him, taunting him. Inside him his own magic pushed against the barrier, burning hot and frustrated.

“You know, it’s funny,” Morgana grinned, advancing on him. “I wanted to use Arthur, to get to Uther, to get him back. But, you complicated things. So instead Uther gets to toy with you and on top of it all, I get the serum too. Arthur will get me the information about Kil Gareth and I will get Mordred back using you. If anything, this has worked out better than it could of before. I thank you, Merlin. You’ve proven ever so useful.”

“So that’s why you haven’t killed me yet.”

“That’s why I haven’t killed you yet. And believe me, it’s a true _pity_ , but you have greater things to do for me than a few moments of pleasure. Have faith in that. No, you get to die in a laboratory, Merlin. An experiment for Uther Constance. But don’t worry; he’ll let you feel your magic while you’re there. He’ll let you feel it only to test you again and again by taking it away.”

She brought her hand up and her magic burned bright then, strengthening, the gold thick and it’s movements angry. Merlin took another step back, or tried to – the magic grasped him, then, like every part of his body was held in place, the air turned to rock and still, Morgana advanced on him. Her steps were slow and menacing and the panic welling up in Merlin made a desperate bid to burst out of him, like his magic, it thrashed inside him. Morgana’s eyes just burned as she spoke.

“He will break you down until you’re dry heaving and sobbing and don’t know what day of the week it is or what’s even your own name. He’ll drive everything from you and the first thing you’ll lose is everything you’ve ever associated with Arthur. He’ll drive every good memory out of you until you can’t think of blond hair and blue eyes without screaming. And I hope that when he’s gone you’ll still remember me, and what you did by making me forget.”

“I did what I thought was right,” he stumbled over the words, his brain buzzing and his lungs burning for air. Memories he had pushed away, memories he had hated at the time and hated now bursting into his subconscious without will, memories he had always thought he had cleansed. He had thought he’d helped her, cured her of the insanity that had her frantic and wide eyed, laughing like there was no hinge left to her, mumbling about feeling it growing, the heat, the _life_ inside of her. He’d thought her mad, and she had been – driven half insane by whatever had happened inside that Compound.

But he had done her a disservice instead and he had driven her to darker things. Whatever had happened to corrupt her since they had last been together had been part and parcel to what he had done that day. She had remembered what he’d taken from her, and Morgause, Morgause had helped her syphon out the madness. Or some of it. There was a madness to her now, a madness in her cruelty that made her vibrant and terrifying as she advanced on him, her arm outstretched and her magic buzzing all around the room, pushing against him on all sides. 

“You might have, but you took those memories from me, Merlin. You took my son away. He’s been there, raised as a lab rat and that is your doing. Yours and Uther’s and you will suffer for it. I promise you that.”

Morgana stared at him, her eyes flashing in anger as the knowledge of her son echoed in his ears Merlin felt it, he felt the stirring fear deep inside him at her words, at the images she drove into his mind. Losing light, his magic, Arthur. _Arthur_. 

He had no implications that it wouldn’t happen, that Uther Constance couldn’t do exactly what she was saying, because he could. He would keep Merlin locked away and Arthur wouldn’t know what happened to him. It was clear now that Morgana had no desire to give him back to Arthur even if Arthur got what she wanted from him. She was going to take the information and run. Her and Morgause were going to double cross Arthur and Gwaine and Percy and that meant that they weren’t planning on playing by the rules. Someone was going to get hurt and there was nothing that Merlin could do about it, trussed up as he was, powerless and aching, waiting for the metaphorical axe.

He clutched at the cuffs around his wrists and reached, reached for the curling, far-off warmth deep inside him that was just out of reach. 

Morgana laughed, giggled like she knew exactly what he was trying to do, and perhaps she did. Perhaps that had been her aim after all, to make him reach for it, make him want to burst past the barriers and drown in the rushing warmth of his power, the light and the feeling of invincibility that burned in him with it, like they were two halves of him. He had never felt so vulnerable as he did reaching for it and finding that cold blocking him, leaving him powerless and human and completely at her mercy.

“There’s no point, you know,” Morgana laughed. “They were made for me, specifically for those high grade nuisances like us and there’s no way out of them. Uther made sure of that. You’re stuck, Merlin. You’re stuck until someone frees you and I promise that will never happen. Not while I have any say.”

Her voice darkened at that, low and dangerous and Merlin tried to focus, tried to keep himself calm, keep himself sane and the panic welling up in him, his lungs burning once again for air as Morgan’s magic tightened it’s hold on him and all of a sudden there was nothing, nothing but the need to breathe and then, as suddenly as it was there, it was gone. Her magic dropped him, released it’s grip and he was left to himself. His knees buckled under him and he fell hard onto the cold stone, gasping for air like a fish. His heart beating with a tempo like it wanted to break through his chest. 

He wasn’t even aware as Morgana left, the door swinging shut behind her with a slam, completely of its own volition. 

Instead he fought to catch his breath, and with it, his wits.

*

Morgause was waiting for her outside the room. Unlike the hired help, Morgause was not afraid of her in her anger and she relished the chance to let it soothe. Almost by proximity did Morgause help calm Morgana’s thoughts, help quell the raging storm.

“You let him anger you too much, sister,” Morgause cautioned as she stormed into the parlour and went straight for the scotch.

“He deserves it,” she snapped and felt her sister move closer.  
“He does, for what he did to you. I will not argue that. But emotion does blind so easily and it will not do well for Mordred if we let it cloud our judgement.”

“Then we do it now, I need him, sister. I need Merlin gone and Mordred here.”

“Then we must make the call to Uther.”

“Then do it.”

“You should be the one, sister,” Morgause said, holding out the phone towards her. Morgana stared at it like it was a viper. To hear that man’s voice – she snatched it out of Morgause’s hand. Her angry remarks disappearing off her tongue.

To hear that man’s voice and know he thought he could do her over, oh she was going to savour every single moment from this point on. Tonight she would get her son back, but after, after – there would be nothing to save Uther Constance.   
She would have her revenge on him one way or another.  
But for now, she needed to take what he had first.

She felt her sister watching her as she input each of the digits and pressed call. The sound of it ringing echoed in the small, sparsely furnished room.   
The sound of Uther Constance answering echoed even louder.

 _“Constance,_ ” the man growled and Morgana smirked, her lips curling of their own volition.

“I have a proposition for you, Director Constance,” Morgana said, imagining the way Uther stopped still as he recognised her voice.

“ _How did you get this number?_ ” the old man asked, a growl of suspicion undermining his voice. Morgana could have laughed.

“Would you like me to waste your time with useless answers we both already know?”

“ _What do you want?_ ” Uther countered and this time she couldn’t help it, she cackled.

“Very good, Director Constance. As I said, I have a proposition for you. I have something you want and you have something I want. I suggest a trade.”

“ _And what could I possibly desire that you possess?_ ” he asked, and she imagined the curl of his lips as he smirked, like he had her backed into a corner. She knew he was wasting time; the old toad would already be tracing the number. She didn’t care. He could find her if he wanted, they would be gone by the time anything could be done and it would still be in her favour. The only people left behind would be Alvarr and his useless crones. If the man happened to find them he was doing them a favour. 

“I have Merlin Ambrose, the man who took your son.”

Uther was quiet and Morgana openly chuckled.

“I have Emrys, Director Constance. I’ll give him to you, him and all his magic all bound up like a pig for the fire.”

_“And in exchange?”_

“Mordred.”

There was a pause and this; this was a crucial moment, where it all hinged upon. He held the upper hand here. But there was no chance in hell she was letting him keep it.

 _“The boy is special to me.”_ He sneered and Morgana chuckled.

“Anything Mordred could offer is more than doubled with Ambrose. And wherever Ambrose is, Arthur will follow.”

Uther was quiet again and Morgana closed her eyes, imagining the look on his face as he visibly fought with himself. She imagined as he made his decision.

 _“The Warf, warehouse sixteen, in an hour. Bring Ambrose and we’ll make the exchange,”_ he snapped and Morgana smiled, feeling it stretch across her face.

“Until then,” she said, cutting off the call before Uther could say another word, before he could do it himself. She would have the last laugh over Uther, she would.

She punched the end call and threw the phone aside, not caring where it landed or what it broke. 

“We have an exchange,” she grinned, and watched as the smile crept upon her sister’s face. 

“It seems our modifications are working well, sister. Uther will give us Mordred and Arthur will give us everything we need to disappear.”

Morgana’s smile could not have been wider. An hour. In an hour, she would have him back. Her Mordred.

And Uther would pay for his cruelty.

 

*

In all the years he had been a Knight, and all the years he had been before then, he had never expected at all to bear witness to Gwen Smith (DuLac now? Details, details, Dubois) interrupt and tell all those present that Uther Constance was on the move.

His father had been put under surveillance.

The ping of her computer interrupted the argument around the table and it all went silent as Gwen’s expression went from intrigued to surprised, before she finally settled on biting her lip and looking at Mithian beseechingly.

“Gwen?” Mithian answered and if Gwen’s reaction hadn’t pulled anyone’s attention that certainly had.

“He’s moving, Mithian,” Gwen said and Mithain’s expression schooled blank.

“Where?”

“Outside the Compound. He’s _moving_ , moving.”

“Who?” Elyan asked from across the table and once again all eyes went to Mithian.

“I ordered Agent Smith to place a trace on Director Constance’s phone.”

“You’re tracking Uther?” Leon asked, sounding half impressed half insane.

“Given earlier suspicions and later findings I wanted to be sure. I was given the authority to do everything that I needed in order to finish this, and I will. Given what we found in his files, I will be submitting an official inquiry into the MDD and anything that happens forthwith during this case will be submitted as evidence if it proves, or disproves the allegations.”

“You think he’s going to make a deal with Morgana,” Arthur said, feeling the weight of the words on his tongue as he said them.

“I do,” Mithian answered darkly, looking at each person around the table.

“I need you all to gear up. As soon as we have an idea of where Director Constance is going, we follow, is that understood? Anyone wishing to step down may do so without recourse.”

The table was quiet and Mithian nodded.

“Owaine, you and Gwen will remain here. Leon, you’re in charge. Elyan, Lance, suit up Dubois. I want a bloody tracking anklet on him. But he’s coming along. Suit up, we’re out in ten. Gwen, radio in when you have directions.”

Mithian stood up, her face impassive before she nodded down at them and was the first to leave. Leon stood up a moment later and followed her out.

Lance stood up next and walked over to Arthur.

“What is she doing?” Arthur asked before he could stop himself. Lance, like Mithian, was wearing an expression of calm control. He barely blinked at his orders, or Arthur’s question.

“I think she’s giving you a chance, Arthur,” he said quietly, slapping a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“We have our orders, come on. Otherwise Mithian might leave without us.”

“Merlin would kill me if he was rescued by the Knights without me,” Arthur replied with a hollow smile.

His father being involved didn’t necessarily negate any of the danger Merlin was in now, but something inside him clenched, anxious about what could happen to Merlin if Uther Constance got his hands on him. 

*

Merlin had to admit he was surprised when Morgause came for him soon after Morgana had left him. He was still reeling from her outburst, but as the door opened and Morgause entered, regal and proud and her dark eyes flashing, Merlin felt his magic flare, a burst of heat that seemed to burn for a moment deep in his chest. It seemed to flare in warning, like a shield or the hackles of a dog. It was there and tangible and as suddenly as he realised it, it slipped from his fingers, disappearing back beyond the barrier like water down a plughole.

Morgause didn’t look any the wiser, but simply continued towards him, moving over to him and kneeling down in front of him. She reached for his hands and it was only then that he saw the coiled rope she had with her. He didn’t fight it as she looped it around his wrists, securing them together once again, this time, mercifully, in front of him. 

She stood up and without a word started heading for the door, dragging him behind her like a pet, yanking hard on the rope.

She didn’t blindfold him or hinder him at all; she simply paraded him out of the room and down a narrow hallway, damp and as dimly lit as the room had been. She led him down to a mouldy front door and out, out into the bitter chill of the night. The fog above them curled into mimicking shadows of clouds and their movement could almost mistake for the glint of stars somewhere high in the mist. The air was cold, a sharp biting wind that was there and gone as fast as it took for Morgause to drag him over to the black sedan parked in the front. It was non descript and boring, and almost as cold as it was outside as Morgause pushed him into the back seat, looping her end of the rope around the hand rest, pulling it taught so that he couldn’t move. There was little chance he’d even try to open one of the back doors in transit now, the rope was just long enough he’d probably kill himself being dragged along the tarmac, which he supposed was her point.

His magic was gone, he was bound and as helpless as he was going to be, tied to the car about to take him towards his destiny. Towards Uther Constance.  
Morgana was just as quiet as she slid into the drivers seat a moment later and as she turned the engine, Morgause slid into the passengers seat and it was done, like a signature on a contract.

*

For Arthur, it was like stepping back in time. The black fatigues, the armour, the gloves and the feeling of movement going on around him as his fellow teammates did the same, stepping into the other part of themselves. 

Except, no matter how similar it felt, how familiar and soothing it was very, very different. There was no gun in Arthur’s boot, no holster around his shoulders, instead his hands were cuffed in front of him and Lance was a warm weight beside him, guiding him through the corridor out to the SUV’s. The tinted black glass shone back at him as Lance guided him into the car and as Elyan joined him on the other side as Mithian, dressed in her own combat gear, slid into the passenger seat and Leon in front. The whole situation felt surreal. It kept slipping out from between his fingers, impossible to truly grasp.

And at the centre of it, was Merlin. 

All of this was for Merlin.

“You’re sure?” Mithian asked, one hand pressed to the headset in her hear as Leon revved the accelerator and the tyres screeched on the cement as he guided it out from the holding bay and up through the car park and out – out onto the long stretch of highway between the edge of the compound and the rest of the civilian life.

“Ok, tell me the moment something changes,” Mithian said, continuing her one sided conversation before she turned her attention on Leon.

“The Warf, he hasn’t stopped yet, but that’s his direction.”

“Got it,” Leon murmured, mostly to himself. Mithian twisted in her seat then, contorting herself to look at the three of them in the backseat.

Elyan and Lance had a grim tension in their shoulders, their expressions tight and eyes dark. Mithian was the same. Seeing her out of her usual prim suits was perhaps the most disconcerting – in all the time he had known her, he had never seen her as she was, her body bulked with the added bullet proof armour that added another ten to fifteen pounds to the whole getup. It was as if some part of her had been stripped away and he mocked himself internally for a moment, continuing to watch her. It had always been her choice to be a bureaucrat in place of an agent. He knew that, he also knew that she had the balls to cut it if she’d wanted it. He’d seen her results on the firing range, on the athletics course. She was one to beat, and always had been.

But somewhere along the line she had chosen a different battlefield. Yet to see her now, here, helping him – _bringing him along_ to help save Merlin.  
Something gave in his chest, this wave of thanks that pushed him off kilter for a moment before he could gather himself properly and push it all back into place.  
“From the beginning I want recon before any of us go in. We’re facing sorcerers, here,” Mithian said grimly, dragging him back into the present with her calm determination.

“I don’t want to take anyone back in a body bag because they got impatient, mind,” she warned and he felt her eyes bore into him then. He could feel them all looking at him.

He nodded, unable to open his mouth for fear something else would come out – like laughter.

He couldn’t promise her anything, not with this. Not with Merlin.

Because as much as he was hoping, he knew in some way shape or form, that he and Merlin weren’t getting out of this.

Mithian might have been doing him a service by letting him come with her, but that didn’t matter. 

Merlin was on the Wanted list and Arthur himself, was Blacklisted. They were targets just as much as Morgana and Morgause were.

“If you have the shot to incapacitate any of the sorcerers, do it. Take the shot,” Mithian said in the quiet a moment later and the darkening sense of fear Arthur was feeling upped itself a notch.

As much as he owed them, as much loyalty as he felt, renewed or remembered Arthur stilled himself then, he closed his eyes and swore, because as much as he loved them, each of them sitting around him in the car, he loved Merlin more.  
It didn’t matter what happened, he was going to get Merlin out.

That was his goal.

It wasn’t his father, or Morgana and Morgause, it was Merlin, and Merlin alone.  
And this time he wouldn’t let him down.

*

The end began as quickly as the whole thing had started. 

Uther was already waiting for them when they arrived, the man standing steadfast in the doorway of the warehouse. Parked in the shadow of the security lights was a black SUV, its windows tinted, next to it, the sedan seemed tiny and inconsequential.

Merlin knew Uther wasn’t fooled, as anyone should be.

Morgause and Morgana were not women to take lightly.

As Uther well knew, but that didn’t stop him.

Uther waited, impassive, as Morgause dragged Merlin out of the car, barely waiting to let him get to his feet before she started dragging him into the building.

Uther was alone. He was standing in the centre, his hands behind his back and Morgana’s snarl echoed around them tenfold.

“Where is Mordred?”

“The boy is in the car, Morgana. Where it’s warmer,” the man sneered, sounding for all the world like a knowledgeable parent. Like he cared.

It was almost laughable.

Morgana and Morgause were not impressed.

“Go and get him.”

“Be patient, girl,” Uther replied, his voice calm and collected, but he spoke with the authority of a man who didn’t need his anger to be obeyed. 

“Let me look at this whelp you claim is Emrys,” Uther mocked and at that Merlin scowled. Morgana looked furious, but Morgause was her composed self and with a sharp push she shoved him forward into Uther’s waiting gaze.

Uther circled him, his small grey eyes staring into Merlin, into the depths of him and he felt his magic roil, like the ocean during a storm and he reached for it, hitting the barrier once again. Only this time, he felt it give and his magic rushed up to meet him - only for it to slip away once again leaving him gasping.

Uther reached out and clutched Merlin’s chin tightly, pulling him forward to stare at him properly, intimidate and unsettle him. Threaten.

Merlin steeled himself and clenched his jaw, clinging to that brief moment of magic. 

He wasn’t afraid of Uther Constance, not of the man – he had heard too much from Arthur. He knew too much about Uther not to know that there was a man underneath the exterior, underneath the bristling fury and madness that made Morgana more his daughter than her blood did. 

He wasn’t afraid of Uther, he was afraid of the power Uther possessed once he was back in the MDD. He was afraid of how helpless he could become.  
He was afraid of being trapped, but he wasn’t afraid of a man.

“To think something about you enchanted my son,” Uther scowled, his voice low and angry and Merlin scowled.

“You will pay for the magic you used on my family, boy,” Uther snarled and in that moment Merlin had to fight not to laugh, because there was something perfectly hilarious about the man’s delusions. About the fact that it was Arthur who enticed his magic, not his magic enticing Arthur.

About everything, this whole mess. 

All he’d wanted was Arthur, all he’d wanted was to come home early and let the blonde prat kiss him hello and was that too much? Had he asked too much of it all?

It built up into his throat like a sob and he clenched his jaw shut tighter in that moment, desperate not to let it out lest he wouldn’t stop – laughing or crying; they were one in the same in that moment.

And that’s when it peaked.

Uther let go of him, pushing him back like he was an animal he was done with. He turned back to the two women watching him like hawks, their eyes burning and their magic bristling.

“Where’s Mordred?” Morgana snarled and Merlin didn’t have time to hear whether or not Uther answered her because there was a soft thud as something hit the ground behind them. Merlin turned, just in time to see the tiny black device and recognise it before it exploded.

The force of it picked him up and tossed him like a doll, throwing him across the room to slam back onto the ground and roll, his limbs loose under him and his head ringing. In the moment as he stirred back to coherency, he was dimly aware of shouting echoing somewhere further away. 

The room was full of smoke, billowing and black and it was impossible to see – the room sliding in and out of focus. Merlin forced his hands under him and tried to push himself up, feeling his body protest and his magic roil again, like it wanted to burst out of him like bile.

For a moment he wanted to be sick, unable to draw a clean breath, unable to touch his magic, unable to think, but there was nothing in his stomach to heave and all of a sudden there was too much going on. 

The shouting grew louder and he pushed himself to his knees, blinking through the smoke and trying to listen, to make out the words from the shouting.  
And that’s when he heard it, the sound he had been yearning to hear since he’d been taken, since he’d woken up yesterday, since he’d left two weeks ago.  
Arthur.

*

One thing Arthur knew about the Warf was that he hated it. It was a sprawling mess of warehouses and shipping containers and a single, worn down jetty that leaned perilously over the Camelot River. 

It wasn’t a pretty sight, and given that they had no idea where in the sprawling mess of warehouses Uther had gone to, the idea that they might have to try their luck on as many as they could made him actually feel a bit ill.

Everyone else in the car seemed to be following the same lines because Arthur watched the pinched look around Leon’s eyes grow as they drove over the bumping gateway and into the Warf. 

There was no security at the gate, nothing to hint in the darkness that there was any life at all out among the sprawling mess of shipping containers and large echoing warehouses.

“Gwen?” Mithian asked softly, into her headset, breaking the tension of the car.

“Any idea where in the Warf Uther went?”

There was a crackling buzz through the comms and then a buzzing only Mithian could hear, her expression twitched before she nodded, mostly to herself.  
“Thanks, Gwen,” she said after a moment and brought her hand away from her ear.

“Warehouse sixteen. Your friends have been helping out again, Dubois,” she said crisply and Arthur had to smile, then. Despite the situation, despite everything.

“They’ve not been there long,” Mithian said a moment later and the tension disappeared again.

As they neared the end row of warehouses Leon slowed the car almost to a standstill and in the glow of the security lights they saw two cars parked at their side of the warehouse; a black SUV like their own, and a small black sedan.

“Park here, we go in on foot,” Leon said, taking control and Arthur was secretly glad. For all that she’d done so far, Mithian was not one to lead this. 

“Elyan, Arthur, check the cars, Lance, Mithian, see if you can see in any of the windows, we need a form of approach and I need to know numbers.”

Elyan didn’t hesitate; he slid out of the car and with a nod towards Arthur to follow set over to the two black cars. Unhanding his gun he held it down, the safety clearly off as Arthur looked down at it, illuminated briefly in the cool night air.

The man’s steps were slow and stealthy and Arthur fell in form, returning to his training with an ease that was both soothing and uncomfortable.

Elyan’s signal to circle round took him to the left side of the SUV and with a careful glance over at the man who was actually armed, Arthur counted him down and they opened the doors together. 

Elyan’s face was creased in shock as he stared into the dimly lit SUV at the small dark haired boy staring fearfully between the two of them.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Arthur swore, continuing to stare at the boy. He felt Leon behind him a moment later.

“Well that’s new,” Leon murmured and Arthur snorted in agreement.

“Move, will you?” Lance whispered on the other side of the car and Arthur heard the other man start to murmur softly at the young boy as he kneeled down on the other side.

“Let DuLac deal with this,” Leon ordered and Arthur nodded, gently closing the door of the car.

“He’ll get him to safety. Elyan, there’s a side door on the left, right next to it there’s an opening in the window. Pitch in a smoke bomb; we’ll need all the advantage we can get against a room full of sorcerers. Arthur, you’re on this side with me. Mithian, follow Elyan. Lance, get the kid away and call it in.”

Arthur watched as Lance saluted to show he’d heard, all the while still talking softly, Elyan and Mithian nodded and disappeared around the other side of the building.

Leon took a breath in and started walking towards this front door. It was closed, and despite their best efforts their shoes crunched on the gravel as they moved. But that was nothing against the feeling of Leon Cameliard pressing his back up weapon into Arthur’s hand as he counted down and on his mark, there was a moments silence and then the ricocheting sound of the bomb going off.

It dispersed with a large resounding bang that seemed to rattle the foundations of the warehouse. Arthur heard Leon swear and shout something at Lance, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. He had one prerogative, one focus – to get Merlin, and as he watched the warehouse shudder his anxiety sky rocketed and threw all sense of caution to the wind. He heard Leon shout after him a moment later, but there was no chance he was waiting around to let them order him around. 

The warehouse was filled with smoke and falling dust and it burned and choked him as he breathed, itching in his nose. He could barely see two feet in front of him, but he could hear movement in the gloom, hear the choking cough of someone in the darkness and a cry of pain. He stumbled over the loose debris scattering the floor, impossible to avoid in the smog, twisting and turning as he searched for something he recognised, some sign that Merlin was here. That Merlin was alive.

Behind him something moved and like a wish come true as the smoke drifted he caught sight of something flashing blonde and in that moment, Arthur heard a struggling shout he’d recognise anywhere. He was after them before he could hear any resistance from Leon, before he could think, disappearing into the smoke and determined to do one thing.

Find Merlin.

*

During her life Morgana had forced herself to accept the chances life threw in the way, opportunities that were different to those she desired and as she came back to herself, her magic recoiling and searching the fog for Morgause and instead found someone else, she was more than willing to take her advantage and use it.

In that moment one thing was certain, Uther Constance had been followed and in that knowledge, he had become useless to her. He had kept Mordred from her, and now, now, even if he’d been true to his word and Mordred had been in the car, there was no chance of getting him now. The foolish knights would have found him already, claimed him before they began their assault.

Mordred was beyond her reach.

But Uther, Uther served no purpose any longer and he deserved everything that was coming to him.

Snarling she scrambled to her feet, aware that just beyond her, somewhere in the gloom Uther was spluttering and fighting to catch up, his senses boring and human and taking their time to accept what was happening.

Morgana was steps ahead and she was not about to let this go.

Stumbling through the fog Uther was on his hands and knees, coughing, his older physique battling against him.

He was at the disadvantage and Morgana’s anger was peaked. She struck out before he even had any idea she was there.

His answering cry of pain and surprise made her smile, she relished the sound of it buzzing in her ears.

“Found you,” she snarled, walking closer towards him, coming at him through the smoke. Uther scrambled for his feet, his pride showing through like a beacon. The man was desperate not to be beaten on his hands and knees.

Perhaps that’s how she could kill him, force him to beg, kissing her shoes.

“Morga-“ Uther attempted to shout, but she cut him off mid cry, her magic slamming him backwards and back onto the ground, the air leaving his lungs with a dull thud and even in the darkness she could see his eyes bulge.

“Stop!” someone cried, just behind her and she turned, not caring which pathetic minion had come to stop her as she curled her magic around them and tossed them aside. She barely paid any attention to the sound they made as they landed half a dozen feet away.

Her attentions were focussed on Uther, Uther who was once again scrambling for his feet. This time she laughed and reached for him, her magic stretching out towards him like the web of a spider, long golden threads that pulled him back towards her, his limbs thrashing as he fought – the last desperate throes of an old man about to reap his dues.

He was but an arms length away when another voice echoed in the smoke and in a single fluid movement she spun, pulling Uther back towards her as she moved. In two steps, the old man was pulled up into her grasp, her arm snaking around his throat and pressing back, her magic pulling him taught and holding him quiet.

“Let him go, Morgana, it’s over,” the voice said again and this time Morgana could see the fixed determination in the woman’s face. Her arms were extended, her gun pointed somewhere between Uther’s neck and her own and Morgana laughed.

“Which criminal are you here to take in, Agent? Because there’s too many of them for one little girl.”

“Out of everyone I hoped you would be one to know you don’t underestimate appearances, don’t prove me wrong,” the woman replied, sounding a little amused, and Morgana couldn’t help but laugh.

“Give me the boy Uther was hiding and I’ll let you have him.”  
The woman shook her head.

“The boy stays out of this.”

“That’s impossible, this is _all_ it’s about. _He_ is all this is about! Give him to me and I’ll let Constance here live.”

“You know I can’t do that. Besides, the boy isn’t here. He’s gone. There was no way I was going to start this with a child here, Morgana. Stand down and I promise you can see him.”

“Ha! Promises from a Knight, how touching. How long will I get, Agent? Ten minutes? Five? I think I’ll take my chances.”

“Just remember that they’re slim, Morgana,” the woman replied, sounding so sure Morgana envied her for a moment. To feel so righteous, so sure about something. That stability – oh how she envied it.

And how useless that feeling was.

Morgana scowled and pulled herself together, pulling her arm tight around Uther’s neck and embracing the keening sound the man made as his airways tightened again.

“You might have him now, agent, but I promise you this, I will get my son back. I will find him, no matter where you take him. How you hide him, I will find him again. You might have won this, but Uther here, Uther’s lost everything,” she sneered.

“Let him go, Morgana. We know what he’s been doing. He’ll pay, I swear.”

“He wont pay enough. What price would give for the life and safety of your child, of any child? What price do you give to that? What price can you take from an old man? There’s only one way to make him pay, and I’ll save you the vulgarity,” she smiled, her magic curling around them, burning hot and reckless, angry in it’s very creation as she was. Uther made a desperate gurgle in his throat as she pulled back with her arm, tightening her hold over his windpipe. It wasn’t quite like what she had felt with Merlin, her magic tightening around him until there wasn’t any air. No, this she wanted to savour, until that moment, all she needed was for him to know he was at her mercy. 

All she needed to convey to the foolish woman was that Uther Constance would not live to see another dawn.

The dark haired agent lifted her gun, her expression wavering as she fought her internal battle. Morgana wanted to laugh. How easy it would be to just tug that silly toy from the woman’s grasp and toss her aside, but it was all in her expression, in her eyes – the fight she was battling between right and wrong.  
But Morgana didn’t have time to wait around.

She tightened her grasp around Uther once again and smiled, feeling her magic welling up inside her again, building and building until it burst and as the words slipped off her tongue she felt the warmth of her magic surround them both and squeeze. It pulsed through her, like it was trying to take her apart and then all of a sudden they slammed back onto the ground and instinctively she let go of Uther. The man stumbled, gasping for breath, his eyes dark and furious and as Morgana found her feet all she could do was laugh at him.

“How dare you – “ Uther roared, his expression ugly and still, all she could do was laugh. There was no one around, an empty expanse of bleak ground that stretched out a few metres before the edge of the river played with its banks. On the other side a crumbling wall hid them from view and it was perfect, a dim stretch of dead ground perfect for what she wanted. 

Privacy, nowhere to run and no one to hear him scream but her.

“How _dare_ I, father?” she mocked, the wind tossing her hair and sending an icy chill across her bones.

“How dare I? There is nothing you can say to me, Uther Constance that gives you the right to the higher ground. Nothing at all. You are the scum of the earth and not even the worms deserve to be anywhere near you. You, Uther, you are going to Hell. You will rot in the darkest pits for your cruelty and it doesn’t matter what I do to you. It doesn’t matter how much I _enjoy_ killing you. I could strip the flesh from your bones while you still lived and I would not hedge an inch closer to the depths you will fall. Because there is nothing I can do that can mimic what you’ve done to the innocence of thousands. Thousands of lives you’ve torn apart and yet you save the bounds of your cruelty for your own blood, for a child you bred like an animal for your sick experiments. You stole my child and you’ve hurt him again and again, and for that you will burn. You will burn, Uther and I will watch you now and I will watch it every night as I go to sleep with a smile on my face,” Morgana snarled, feeling the words slip off her tongue, feel them disappear from the burning scroll she had carved into her psyche ever since her memories returned, ever since she remembered those months in Uther’s keep and what she and her sister had found. Ever since she had discovered that the father, who had never acknowledged her, had stolen her child and Merlin had wiped her memory like it had never been there.

There was nothing she wasn’t willing to do to avenge the damage Mordred had felt at the hands of the man staring up at her white faced and terrified. She could sense the fear pouring out of Uther, how he struggled against the invisible bonds she snapped around him, how his arrogance withered as she knocked him to his knees. As he stared at her glimmering eyes and she hoped, she hoped in some dim, far off part of her that he regretted his life. The part he had played in the pain of so many. She hoped he was sick with himself.

But she doubted it.

He cared for himself, feared for himself.

And in the end, he would be the only one to mourn once the world discovered what he had done.

She would be sure of that.

She knelt down in front of him and his bloodshot, fear filled eyes followed her every move. She knelt in front of him and waited, staring into his eyes, staring deep into him, memorising the moment.

When she spoke it was quiet, solemn, like the whispered words of judgement.  
“I want to listen to you scream,” she said.

*

Merlin winced as Morgause dropped him, her grasp leaving him and his knees buckled out from under him as he coughed and coughed and fought for a clean breath. 

He was half aware of Morgause still close by but his attention felt split too many times already. His lungs burned and his magic pressed against the barrier, wild, fighting to break through and Arthur – always Arthur. The sound of his voice echoing in his head, again and again on loop.

Merlin was too desperate that he was only dimly aware of Morgause bending down to his level, her hair falling in long blond waves and her eyes burning gold in the smoke. 

His first cognizant acknowledgement of where they were and what she was doing burst through his confusion as Morgause leant in and whispered in his ear.  
“Come Merlin, let’s lay a trap.”

She sounded too happy in that moment, too perfectly smug that some dark terror burst through him and dragged him back to reality.

He looked from Morgause in that moment as she leant behind him, her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk and then he followed the lines of her body, her shoulder, her extended arm, the gun clenched in her grasp. The gun she didn’t really need.

He stared at it and knew a moment before it happened what was about to unfold.  
He knew, and his magic raged, burning hot and desperate.

And then Arthur burst around the corner.

And Morgause fired.

*

Arthur heard a dim shout behind him that he ignored without question. The warehouse drifted heavy with dust and smoke and it made direction impossible. But there was something driving him, something that he couldn’t explain or think about – something that was instinct and instinct alone, leading him the right way. Because he was certain, he had to be certain that he was following Merlin; there was no other option. He wasn’t about to fail Merlin again.  
The warehouse was old and dilapidated, the ground covered in debris and it was the sound of someone’s heavy breathing, the hacking coughs and disparate clumsiness that reverberated through the fog the further away from the entry site they got.

He couldn’t run, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He wanted to hurtle through the fog and drag Merlin into his arms. He didn’t think of Morgause and really, that was his undoing.

As he followed the sound of Merlin’s coughing around a half standing wall there was a moment where he knew he hadn’t thought it through, where some part of him that thought everything through, took the time to focus and not let his emotions drive him started muttering under it’s breath.

But that was dim and unimportant. 

As he burst around the corner he took in Merlin half sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide and terrified and behind him Morgause. Her lip curled and her eyes flashed gold and Arthur had this strange feeling of dread uncurl in his stomach a moment before she moved. 

And then Morgause pulled the trigger and Arthur saw the flash of the gun a moment before the report. Everything slowed in that moment, a moment too late as Arthur felt his whole body lurch backward. He watched as a single curl of smoke wafted from the end of the gun, the sharp tang of gunpowder in the air. He watched as Merlin’s eyes widened in shock and his body jerked forward in horror. Arthur glanced down at himself and watched in abject curiosity at the small hole in his vest, as the first dark stain curled against the fabric of it, a dark black target, darker than the Kevlar itself and yet seemed absent of pain.

The only real pain was staring at him in Merlin’s face, in his wide eyes and the desperate cry that tore from his lips.

It was wordless and high pitched and something bright flashed in Arthur’s eyes, something bursting and gold and _angry_ and Arthur watched as something dark fell away from Merlin’s wrists.

Arthur heard Morgause’s surprised ‘oh’ before the curling gold obeyed the whipcord movement of Merlin’s hands and took hold of the blonde woman and picked her up like she was a doll, tossing her across the room. 

Arthur didn’t hear her land, as he tried to move his feet, heavy in his shoes, he felt his knees give way a second before the pain hit. Like the swing of a sledgehammer it hit him full on, it hit right behind his eyes and in the middle of his chest simultaneously, and as his vision whitened out, he felt the faintest caress of warmth that felt irrepressibly just like Merlin.

And then it was all gone.

*

Merlin reacted before he could really process Morgause’s actions. His brain flipped, an immediate reaction where his magic just _burst_ , like a dam, the barriers holding it back, holding it inside him just snapped and it flooded his veins and out, out, out of him in a second. In the time it took to see Arthur’s blood bleed through the front of his vest, a tiny dark wet patch that bespoke so much more than it first appeared.

His veins buzzed with the feel of his magic, his blood hot and his eyes burning and with a wordless shout he reached out for Morgause and threw her. His fingers clamped shut and his magic followed, a wordless command that picked the woman up and tossed her aside. All the while, his magic burst out of him, curling through the air and stretching out – out of him, out of the confines of his body, of the room. He could feel it, every fibre of the room, the cold stone brickwork under their feet, the concrete, the cool dead wood in the walls, the dust and the smoke, the soft buzz of the insects and the tuneful hum of the glass. He could feel the shocked gasp for breath Morgause made, the whipcord rush of her own magic, slick and cold inside her veins. He could feel the tense pulse of Arthur’s heart and the unsteady hitch in his breathing. He could feel his lover’s breath and his heartbeat and the touch of his skin – he could feel Arthur’s determination and his reserve, his worry and his fear and the weakness of his body.

He felt the moment his knees gave out and his magic caught Arthur before his eyes could close or even his knees touch the ground.

His magic curled around Arthur in a protective glow that stretched between them like gossamer thread. He could feel Arthur through it, his heartbeat, strong, but weakening. He could feel the panic in Arthur’s body, the rush of his blood – and then it was torn out of his grasp. Something slammed into him, hard and unyielding and cold and tossed him aside like he was nothing. The bond between he and Arthur snapped and Merlin was left reeling, something pulsing in the back of his head as he fought to put his feet back underneath him.

“Do you really think I would be so easy, Merlin?” someone taunted him, her voice icy and mocking. He stumbled to right himself; something pushing down on him, like the air was concrete thick and even his lungs rebelled.

“I was one of the lucky ones, I was trained, taught by those blessed to escape Uther Constance and his persecution. I have the knowledge of Magic’s history in my head and you are an unschooled boy with too much power and not enough dedication.”

Merlin looked up into long blond hair and black clothing and a searing gaze, her hand outstretched.

He watched as she closed her fist and the air closed around him again, at her will he was pulled to his feet and tossed across the room once again. His vision slid in and out of focus as he tried to take stock of himself. But Morgause was not one for mercy and her magic closed around him again, the air disappearing out of his lungs.

“You, blessed with more power than us all, and you treat it without the respect it deserves. You serve only yourself and not those who would benefit from your achievements.”

He stumbled, trying to put his feet under him, but Morgause was on him again before he count gather his wits. Her magic coiled around him and tossed him again, slamming him into the barely-standing wall behind Arthur, the corrugated iron collapsing under the pressure of his body and he felt the sharp slice of it through his skin as he struggled once again for his feet.

He could hear her laughter; feel the amusement as she toyed with him in her magic, in the very bones of her. The anger there that seemed to be part of their blood as a family, inherent in everyone he had met.

Bar Arthur.

Arthur and Morgause were nothing alike, no blood shared between them, but he shared blood with Morgana, with Uther and he was nothing like them. Not like that.

Not where it counted.

Arthur, with his heart of gold, his do-good, be-good principles. His arrogance and his easy frustration and the way he looked at Merlin, first thing in the morning, all sleep rumpled and confused and Merlin let out a wordless cry as he clenched his eyes shut and replayed the sight of Arthur, his Arthur crumpling into the dust of the warehouse.

He could feel Morgause standing barely a metre away, so close, too close. He could feel her glee at his pain, at Arthur’s pain. Arthur’s death.

“You hurt him,” Merlin growled, feeling the words and the hurt somewhere deep inside him, bursting and burning and as part of him as his magic.

“You hurt him. You came into our place, our business, our home and you took me from him. You separated us and now you’ve taken him forever.” The pain didn’t dull, it throbbed, it _burned_ in his veins just like his magic, and perhaps it was his magic, maybe it wasn’t. But all he knew in that moment was that Arthur was gone, hurt, dying – dead. Morgause hurt him and right at that second Merlin didn’t know if she had torn him away from Merlin forever, before he had even been able to touch him, kiss him, hold him one last time. Two weeks ago was such a long time and to think that his teasing kiss to the back of Arthur’s neck at five o’clock in the morning, while Arthur had been grouching and still half asleep – to think that might have been the last time he had with him...

There was nothing Morgause could do to spare herself.  
Not that she really tried.

Her eyes still glowed bright and her mouth was still a determined line as she reached out towards him, her magic bursting on her fingertips. Merlin reacted; he could feel his magic curl in the tips of his fingers. His hand reached for her and then he clenched his fist, his will iron and cold and his innocence shrivelled and dead inside his chest. He could feel the cold rush of anger and revenge and he could feel as his magic curled into her veins and encircled her heart, the burning golden flame of her life. He closed his fist around it and just like that Morgause’s eyes rolled up in her head and her body went limp, her arm falling flat and her head lolling back on her neck like a doll. He could feel the flame of her life snuff out, he could feel the way it smouldered and disappeared, the last of her breath leaving her lungs.

And just like that it was done. His hands shook and he inhaled a shaky breath that didn’t seem to catch, reeling from the sudden absence of his magic, the hollowness in his veins. He could feel the heart of it buzzing inside of him, weary and weak, but in the wake of it all, as he turned towards Arthur, the emptiness in his chest, the hollow terror that hadn’t gone away fanned itself back to a full flame of it’s own as he turned towards Arthur and saw his lover’s slumped body.

“No – “ he moaned, low in his throat and he started towards Arthur – delving back into himself, into his magic and reaching out, feeling out along a line of magic, searching for that bright golden light that was Arthur’s life.

“No,” he moaned again, searching deeper, searching and desperate not to be left wanting. 

“No, no, no, no!” Merlin cried, dropping to his knees in front of Arthur two steps too short. He could feel the skin on his knees shredding as he dragged himself the last distance between them. 

“Dammit, Arthur – no!” he said again, reaching out for him but for a moment too terrified to touch him in fear of what he’d find. Arthur was too pale, the blood drained from his face and his expression slack. Mercilessly Merlin tore the Kevlar from him, his magic ripping it like it was nothing. The front of Arthur’s shirt was wet and black with his blood and it was warm on Merlin’s cold hands as he finally convinced himself to touch him. Arthur didn’t move, didn’t flinch or swear like he had when he’d slipped over and cut open his palm and sprained his wrist. It had been like dealing with a child, pouting and wide eyed and Merlin had laughed at him for days. This time Arthur was bleeding and unmoving and it felt like Merlin’s heart was trying to break through his ribcage it was beating so hard.

His hands were shaking as he tore at the front of Arthur’s clothes, at the shirt that made him look so dapper. His fingers were slick with Arthur’s blood as he finally looked down at the small hole that had caused everything. It was tiny and didn’t go all the way through, but it oozed blood.  
Behind him, Merlin was dimly aware for a moment of a crying shout and as if on reflex he reacted, his magic flaring out and forming a barrier around them, tall and impenetrable, keeping them safe. Merlin didn’t even bother to give the woman a glance as he held his hands over the wound in Arthur’s chest. It wouldn’t be enough, he realised dimly as he felt the warm flow under his fingers. It wouldn’t be enough. Even if that woman had called for an ambulance the moment Arthur had gone down it wouldn’t be enough. Arthur would be gone by the time anything could be done, and that just wouldn’t be good enough. 

He wouldn’t let that happen. 

He closed his eyes and reached for the magic, the burning coil inside him that all of a sudden was weak and weary and stretched too thin already. It sparked as he touched it, angry and disobedient and slipped through his fingers like Arthur’s blood.

“No,” he moaned again and tried once more. His magic alive, annoyed with him for the bracelets Morgause had made him wear, as exhausted as Merlin was and emotionally frazzled.

“Please,” Merlin whispered to himself, to his magic, to Arthur and reached again. This time it slid up his fingers and burned bright. He could feel it rushing through him, in his blood and out – out, out through his skin and into Arthur. He could feel it sing as it touched him, that familiar jump as it had always done when he had asked something of it around Arthur. It sang and the tune turned mournful and for a moment Merlin felt a lurching cry deep inside him as his magic sought for a flicker of life and found nothing. Merlin gasped, something tightening in his chest until it was almost impossible to breathe and he pushed out again, forcing the magic deeper, deeper – searching for something, anything – no matter how small, desperate to bring it back.

And then something sparked, this tiny flame that burned red and flickered. This last vestige of Arthur, the stupid, stubborn prat of a man that Merlin knew, that was clinging on, like he was waiting for Merlin. Merlin gasped, dimly aware of tears on his cheeks as he cried out and reached deep once again, pulling as much magic as he could into himself and then pushed it out through himself and down into Arthur – into the blood vessels and muscle, the torn flesh, reaching for the tiny lump of metal that had torn Arthur apart. He reached for it and as his magic curled around it he clenched his eyes shut tight and felt it disappear. Like letting go of a held breath, he felt his magic burst outwards, reaching into Arthur and mending. He felt his magic curl up through Arthur’s bloodstream and into the heart of him, straight into that tiny flickering red flame and fan it brighter – back to bursting, strong and warm and alive.

And as Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur’s body arched up from the ground and he took his first gulping breath. Then Merlin’s magic slipped from his grasp and it receded like the crack of a whip, the magic in Arthur and the magic in the shield and as Mithian jolted forward towards them, Merlin focussed on the feel of Arthur’s chest, warm under his touch and moving with each gentle breath. It was even and strong and something relaxed inside him and his focus on the world slipped quickly out of his grasp.

*

There was a muted beeping echoing in Arthur’s skull as he slipped back into consciousness. The sound cued his brain as to where he was long before he actually opened his eyes. He hadn’t been safe from a hospital visit or three in his career, though it had never been himself waking up in the bed. But he knew the drill all the same. He could smell the sharp tang of disinfectant and overly filtered air and it was familiar and oddly comforting.

What was strange about the situation was the metal bracelet around one wrist.   
It was only when he blinked to accommodate the bright lights of the room that he took stock of his situation and the fact that it wasn’t a bracelet at all, but handcuffs. He was handcuffed to the bed.

“If you keep yanking at that, it’ll bruise and I’ll hold no sympathy for you,” a familiar voice told him and Arthur scowled and tried to push himself into a sitting position.

Mithian tutted impatiently and got up out of her chair to come over and help him.

“You never had any sympathy for me,” Arthur reminded her as she adjusted something beyond his reach and the bed whirred softly and rose, so that Arthur could sit up and see without straining himself. Not that he felt any pain. It was odd, that, he felt completely normal – not even the aching familiarity of a concussion or the gentle befuddlement of being drugged. 

He felt just as if he had woken up at home, in his and Merlin’s apartment in upper Hallton.

“You’ve never deserved any,” Mithian concluded as she dragged her chair closer. He was in a closed room, one bed, no windows and a single door with a screen covering the glass peephole. The door looked reinforced and Arthur decided to bet he wasn’t anywhere near Camelot Mercy Hospital, but rather in the Infirmary at the Compound.

“True,” he amended and watched his old friend for a moment. Mithian was as beautiful and composed as she ever was in this building. It had only been outside, in the real world when they’d been children, or on those very rare and precious days off that he had seen her real personality shine through. She was a constant professional when required, but during those times of freedom, she had been one of Arthur’s favourite people on the planet. She had her game face on now though and the dread in Arthur’s gut was palpable.

“Where am I?” he asked, continuing to watch her. Irritation and something else flashed across her face and Arthur settled back because it was clear this was serious and longwinded and as the last dregs of drowsiness wasted away he found himself desperate to know what the hell had happened in the gaping hole of his current memories. He needed to know what happened, how he got here and where the hell Merlin was.

“The Compound,” Mithian answered. “But I guess you’d deduced that already.”

“Why? Where’s Merlin?” he asked and Mithian immediately looked guilty.

“He’s... safe.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Mithian, or placate me with hesitations. Tell me what happened. I remember Merlin fighting Morgause, but then nothing. How did I get here?”

“It’s difficult to explain, Arthur.”

“Then start from the beginning. Tell me everything,” he demanded and he watched her hesitation fade a little.

“I can’t, Arthur. But I’ll tell you what I can. Merlin isn’t here. He’s being detained in AdSeg at Albion Penitentiary.” 

“He’s what?”

“He’s gone, Arthur. I’m sorry. Know that I am, but things have happened while you were unconscious that you cannot change. Merlin Ambrose is no longer your concern.”

“Damn you, ‘no longer my concern,’ – he’s my _only_ concern! What happened?”

“Merlin did, Arthur. When we found you after your little disappearing act, you’d been shot and Merlin was fighting Morgause. There was a protective shield securing the room. We couldn’t get in. We had to watch as Merlin fought Morgause. He defeated her and then turned his attention to you. You were bleeding and unconscious and Merlin was distraught. I watched him heal you. I watched the hole in your chest just disappear. It sapped all but the last of Merlin’s strength. Everything he had was being put into the shield keeping us out. Once he regained consciousness he made a deal. A deal I am honouring, Arthur. He gave himself up in exchange for you. He would accept any sentence given to him without question, if yours was revoked.”

The dread in Arthur’s gut turned to stone.

Mithian paused and for the first time since he was a child, he saw open pity in her expression.

“He gave his testimony yesterday. In the eyes of the law, Arthur, Merlin Ambrose lured you into his grasp with evidence of the Underground movements. He used the plight of children and terrified families trying to protect themselves to garner your trust and then proceeded to enchant you. He admitted to enchanting you, making you fall in love with him in order to have your help in his cause. He told us about Pendragon. In the eyes of the law, you are not responsible for your own desertion and are no longer Blacklisted as a traitor to your agency or your country. You’re being held here, at the Compound in supervised probation until your father’s inquiry is completed and unless new evidence is brought to light, you will be released from your contract a free man.”

“And Merlin?” Arthur croaked. Mithian sighed.

“Merlin is awaiting sentencing, but he’s facing Life, Arthur. His help revealing your father will give him a little light in the darkness, but he’s facing multiple charges. If he’s lucky, he’ll be up for parole in twenty five years on good behaviour. There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Arthur remained quiet for a moment, letting the words sink through. Merlin was gone – he had given himself up _for Arthur_. He had essentially handed himself over, knowing he could potentially never see the light of day again.  
For Arthur.

Merlin was at Albion Penitentiary, hell, he was AlPen in _AdSeg_. He was alone for 23 hours in a day, and Arthur was here, at the Compound until some bureaucrats could make up their mind.

Wait.

“What happened with my father?” he asked and Mithian’s expression changed, it darkened and she exhaled, long and arduous.

“We discovered why Morgana and Morgause were so intent on getting into the Compound. We found a number of sorcerers in the MDD. They were being used as clinical experiments on your father’s authority. The young boy we found at the Warehouse, Mordred, was one of them. He’s Morgana’s son.”

“Her _son_?”

“Merlin told us some very interesting stories about Morgana Le Fay, Arthur. He didn’t know about Mordred. But he knew a great deal.”

“Did you find her?”

“No, we didn’t. But we found where she took your father. I’m sorry, Arthur, but she killed him.”

“I figured as much. He deserved nothing less.”

“No matter what he did, he was still your father,” she brokered with the gentle sincerity of a bureaucrat lying through their teeth. 

“Not after what he’s done,” Arthur replied, determined not to let his conviction waver.

“So my father’s dead, my sister’s a fugitive, my nephew is in the care of the state and my boyfriend is in prison. Do you have any good news for me, Mithian?”

“I am sorry, Arthur,” she said, and horrifyingly, she sounded like she genuinely was.

Arthur shifted awkwardly and tried to sit himself up a little higher.  
“I know you are,” he said, gruffly. “Thanks. For everything.”

“I wish there was more to be done, Arthur. Truly I do. I’ve seen what you were doing with Merlin. It was the right thing.”

“I know. Can I see him?” he asked and watched her face fall.

“No,” she said, sadly. “You have to stay here until your father’s inquiry finishes. There’s a lot to process, Arthur. Its final date with the board is in three weeks, but that could get pushed back. After that I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything. He’s rather high profile, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded.

“I imagine he would be,” he muttered blandly. Mithian sighed and stood up, smoothing her dress down.

“I should let you get some rest,” she said, her usual stiff manner returning. “I’ll send Leon along with any news as it comes.”

“Yeah,” he murmured and watched her walk across the room.

He was about to let her go, but before she could do little more than enter her security code he couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Mithian,” he called out, softly. There was something expectant in her eyes as she turned back to him.

“Thank you,” he replied and she nodded, something vulnerable showing in the turn of her lips before she was gone. As the door clicked shut and the locks slid back into place, Arthur fell back against the pillows and clenched his eyes shut.

Just days ago he had been counting down the hours until he could see Merlin again, hold him and kiss him and now, now he was left with an empty high profile infirmary room in the Knights Compound and Merlin had an emptier cell at Adseg all the way across the city. He was closer tonight than he had been for the fortnight Arthur had missed him, but he had never been further away. 

Far too much had changed since he had sent that hesitant email to an account Merlin might never be able to access again, one vulnerable declaration he wished now, more than ever, that he could have pressed against Merlin’s skin himself in place of a set of binary wishes and false hope.

But the sentiment was there, out in cyber space waiting for Merlin to find.

And Arthur took comfort in that quietly.

“I miss you,” he whispered and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips.

And he waited.

 

Epilogue

Fourteen months later

 

“The faith they have in you, Princess,” Gwaine scoffed as he perched on the edge of the table. Across the room Leon let out a snort of derisive laughter.

Arthur rolled his eyes and stood up, pretending he wasn’t fidgeting, that he wasn’t anxious to all hell and fighting his own delusions, still not quite sure this was all real.

“Shut up, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I’m not saying I don’t like it, Princess, I’m just saying that I’m still not sure how it bloody well worked.”

“Through compromise, Mr Green,” Mithian replied, standing up.

“I thought it was desperation, Mithian?” Arthur pushed, not quite paying attention, his gaze slipping back to the clock on the wall.

Mithian rolled her eyes and leant back in her chair.

“On whose part, Arthur?”

“You came to me,” he answered her and the room was quiet for a moment.

“That we did,” Mithian replied after a beat and took her moment to stand up, which was just in time for the door on the other side of the room to open and all of a sudden, there was Merlin. 

“There we are,” Mithian scoffed as Lancelot and Elyan followed Merlin into the room and she walked over to the three of them, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. Arthur could barely take his eyes off Merlin, the resilient set to his shoulders, the glint in his eyes and the curve of his lips, the way his fingers folded in towards his palm as he held out his handcuffed wrists and Mithian unlocked them and all of a sudden fourteen months imprisonment fell away.

“Now you have your team, Arthur,” Mithian said, turning around to fix him with a determined glare. “Find me Morgana Le Fay.”

To be continued...  
Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this story breaks the rules of Paper Legends because it gives the opportunity for a sequel. At this point, I have very little intention of continuing it for the moment. This may change, as most of my fics make a come back for more with increasing insistence and I have a feeling that this verse will not go quietly. But as for the moment, what is here, is all that's here. I do hope that you have enjoyed my story, it was a labor of love with much blood, sweat and tears and I'm quite proud I made it to the finish line anyway. Even if I broke the rules a little xxxxx


End file.
